No Such Thing as a Perfect Family
by SChimes
Summary: Starting two days after Rusty's secret comes out, follows the aftermath of that combined with another unexpected trial in the lives of Sharon and Rusty. Response to prompt "what happens after the letters come out" and "Rusty meets Sharon's family".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Like many of us, I've been wanting to tackle ****THE cliffhanger that's had us all biting our nails since August. Since it's less than three weeks to go to the next episode (GAH! The last stretch is always the hardest!), it felt like a good time to get to it before it's too late! **This story came as prompt from a friend on "what happens after the letters come out" and "Rusty meets Sharon's family". This is my take on how those two things might co-occur.  


**Main characters listed are Sharon, Rusty, Flynn and Provenza, but this will be a mostly Sharon/Rusty story. I'm a sucker for their plot, and will possibly cry if he goes away permanently. Hints of romantic pairings, if any, will remain strictly in cannon range (or... mostly strictly). **

**The story is 90% written and will probably span about 10-12 chapters. I'm aiming to post one every couple of days, to finish it right in time for the next episode.  
**

**This starts two days after the ending of "Poster Boy"... **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (1)**

"I want a gun."

Captain Sharon Raydor paused mid-sentence, her head automatically turning to her young charge; she stared at him with eyebrows lifted slightly.

Rusty stared back determinedly.

Sharon lowered her head just a notch in a slightly warning way, held it for a moment, then turned back to the two lieutenants currently in the squad room: "As I was saying, Lieutenant Provenza, I know Mr. Starling's office doesn't work on Sundays, but given that someone just stabbed one of their directors _fourteen times_," she emphasized the words with a meaningful arch of her eyebrows, "I'm sure they'll find the time to come in and give you access to their records. Feel free to give them our apologies for the inconvenience."

Provenza affected a sour mien. "Yeah, I'm real worried that _they'll_ be inconvenienced working on a Sunday," he grumbled. "Who's giving _me_ apologies?"

"You're getting overtime," his partner, Lt. Andy Flynn, pointed out.

"I could use both," countered Provenza.

"And _we_ could use those records right now," the Captain prompted, "so if –"

"I'm serious. I want a gun."

Her lips pursed for the slightest second. " –if you could please contact the office –"

"_Hello_! Did I suddenly turn invisible? Or are you all just practicing for when I'm not gonna be here anymore." The last words were accompanied by a dark glare.

Sharon let out a slow breath. "Excuse me for a moment, Lieutenants." Turning to give Rusty her full attention, she held out a hand in the direction of her office. "Let's talk."

* * *

Closing the door to her office, Sharon turned to see Rusty standing at the far end with a tense, wary expression, and braced herself.

"You said I didn't _have_ to, you said you –" He bit off the words, pressing his lips together angrily. "Were you just, what, making stuff up to keep me quiet, in Taylor's office?"

She instinctively winced at the memory of those moments; she could still feel how her blood had run cold when DDA Rios had shown her the letters. Thinking back on that one, dreadful, instant was enough to make her heat beat louder.

Just the fact that she still had Rusty now, two days later, was nothing short of a miracle.

And maybe a short-lived one, at that.

"I know what I said, Rusty," she replied softly, "and I meant it. We're doing everything possible to make sure you don't get moved again…"

"Then what was that woman doing at your house yesterday?"

He was not in an understanding mood, not that she could blame him. But it only made things harder.

"I explained to you already, DDA Rios came to discuss options…"

"Options. Options like the Broods? Because I don't know what…what _definition_ you're using here," he sputtered, "but that's not an option, Sharon!"

She closed her eyes briefly; she could have throttled Rios for bringing that up the day before. If Rusty hadn't erupted in indignation before she'd had a chance to react, Sharon was fairly sure she would have said something equally unwise. Now, however, there was nothing to do but try to make him less scared about the prospect.

"The Broades have dealt with DCFS in the past, Rusty," she consoled. "They're a nice family. If it comes to –"

"Well don't let it come to it, then!" Definitely not in an understanding mood. "I don't care how nice they are and I definitely don't want to meet them!"

"Rusty, I understand that…but, there might not be a choice –"

"You _said_ there would be a choice! Remember that? You said I'd have a choice!"

She had, and now she was sorry to have spoken without thinking. But Rusty's expression in Chief Taylor's office had been _so_ hopeless, so _desolate_ that it had broken her heart. She barely remembered _what_ she'd told him; she'd have said anything to make that inconsolable misery go away.

Friday had been a horrible, _horrible_ day. From the second DDA Rios had called her into Taylor's office and shown her the letters, Sharon had known the time had come for battle. But what she remembered most strongly now was the shock. She'd been caught so utterly unawares. Stunned to see the pile of ominous yellowed papers, to realize what it meant, to grasp what she had missed that entire time.

And then she had pushed the shock away and _stalled_, stalled and evaded and _prayed_ for a solution to occur to her.

Nothing had.

And now she and Rusty were just biding their time.

Things were precarious between them, emotions running high and words left unspoken as she scrambled frantically for a last-minute fix and he tried to deal with the maelstrom of worries, regrets and insecurities. It was much for an adult to take, let alone a teenager - and Rusty wasn't taking it well. After Rios' visit things had mostly just gone downhill, with the rest of Saturday a nerve-racking swing from panicked anger to gloomy silence.

By the looks of it, today promised no improvement. "I want a gun."

With a sigh, Sharon just picked a reason and didn't even bother to list the million others that made the request outrageous. "You're too young to own a gun."

"I'm not too young to be _threatened_," he protested. "I'm not too young to be _shot at_! I don't see what's wrong with having a way to protect myself."

"Rusty." He didn't want a gun, he wanted a reassurance; one that sadly she could not give him. "I'm doing _everything_ I can to make sure your best interest comes first in this situation."

It broke her heart a little when he just crossed his arms stubbornly.

They had both been too shocked to talk much about it the day it happened. After the _atrocious_ meeting in Chief Taylor's office, it had been everything Sharon could do to get them both in the car and drive home.

Her stalling, at least, had paid off. She'd kept Rios from doing anything until Rusty came in from school, and by the time he gave his side of the story, and the arguing and the pleading and the recriminations were over, it was evening and not even Emma Rios could file a motion at 7 p.m. on a Friday. Not that the woman hadn't planned to call a judge the very next morning, but somehow Sharon had dissuaded that, proposing instead to meet at her house and 'discuss options'.

Come Saturday, she had come to regret that move, but she couldn't have known ahead of time just how badly Rusty would take her and Rios meeting amiably at the house to talk of compromise.

And everything else aside, that meeting _had_ bought her all of Friday evening, every second of which Sharon had spent gathering an arsenal of tactics and taking inventory of every favor she was owed and every string she could pull. The second that DDA Rios walked out of her house Saturday, promising to be back with a court order as soon as she could pull a judge off a golf court, Sharon had picked up the phone and launched a preemptive strike. In doing so, she had reneged on every reassurance she had just given Rios, and probably killed any chance of peaceful collaboration, but if that's what it took, then it was a small price.

The question was whether or not she'd manage to make any difference at all.

"There's nothing to do but wait and see what happens."

She realized she'd spoken out loud when Rusty exploded: "Are you serious? Wait and see what _other_ people decide about what _I'm_ supposed to do? _How_ is that _fair_!"

"It's not," Sharon agreed quietly. "But it's … what it is."

If only he had told her earlier. If only she had thought to ask. If only Kris had come to her, not Rios.

Sharon shook her head to chase those thoughts away. It was too late for any of that. "It'll be okay, Rusty."

The corners of his lips drew downward. "I can tell when you're lying, you know."

"Whatever happens –"

"Stop _saying_ that!" he threw his hands in the air. "I don't want to hear 'whatever happens', I don't _want_ anything else to happen!" He gave her an angry, desperate look. "Why is it so much to ask for _nothing_ to happen?!"

When Sharon took a step toward him, he just backpedalled, and she instantly pulled back.

"Just… " Rusty clenched his jaw to keep his voice from shaking. "Just… leave me alone."

And he pulled open the door and rushed out, ignoring the two lieutenants and making a beeline for the conference room, where he all but barricaded himself before dropping heavily into a chair, his back resolutely turned to the rest of them.

* * *

His light sort of half-knock was unnecessary, since the door was still wide open from when Rusty had flung it a minute before – but Lieutenant Andy Flynn knew better than to barge into his Captain's office unannounced, open door or not.

Especially given the manner of the young man's departure. He gave Captain Raydor a cautious look. "You okay…?"

She was leaning against the desk, arms crossed, a faraway expression in her eyes. She looked up slowly at his entrance, and sighed.

"How do I explain to a _child_ that he can't just have a normal life, even for a little while, because others won't let him?"

Flynn winced in sympathy. "It's a tough situation." And it was. Not just for her, either. The whole team had slowly come to see Rusty as more or less a permanent fixture. However pissed and betrayed they might have felt over him hiding the damn letters, they'd all been sobered by the prospect of his abrupt and imminent departure.

None like the Captain, though. They all knew that was a whole different story, and when she nodded sadly in reply to his statement, Flynn felt the need to say more. "You're doing everything you can. Kid's lucky to have you in his corner."

She slowly shook her head. "Is he?" There was a harsher note in her soft tone. "Because whatever else, I can't deny DDA Rios' point. If I had been more careful, if I had acted more like a police officer and less like…" She pressed her lips together, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond him. "I could have, _should have_, stopped the situation from reaching this point."

"You can't blame yourself for wanting to give him a home," he said quietly.

"It wasn't my job to give him a home; my job was to give him a safe house. And because I didn't do things the right way, now he's having his life turned upside down again, _and_ he's in danger."

"Well, you sure didn't do things the _proper_ way," Provenza's voice came from the door, "we could've all told you that about two days into this whole mess. But," he shrugged, "who's to say what's the right way?"

She shot him a forlorn look, and he stepped fully into the office, holding up a thin stack of papers.

"FID's all-clear on the North case. They just faxed it to us; someone's been working overtime down there, too."

It took a moment of staring at the papers, her brow still furrowed, before the Captain realized what he was talking about: "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll pass this on to Chief Taylor tomorrow morning..." She transitioned into business mode again; after all they were all here on a Sunday and it wasn't for no reason. "Any luck with the Starling's office?"

Provenza rumbled a long-suffering sigh. "They'll send his assistant to help," he made it sound like a grand favor. "Sanchez and Sykes volunteered to drive over and go through the files." He shrugged at Raydor's pointed look. "What? I said 'volunteered'…!"

The other lieutenant let out an incredulous, if amused, scoff, earning himself a sideways glare.

"No one asked you, Flynn."

The man held up his hands in mock-surrender.

* * *

Detective Sanchez looked up from his desk when the Captain and the two lieutenants walked over from her office. "Simpson's girlfriend is in interview 1. Says she hasn't seen him since Friday."

Raydor let out a noncommittal hum. "Do we believe her?"

"She was working the night shift over at UCLA's medical center, so she's got an alibi. Sykes is checking it now," he motioned to the woman at the other desk, who was speaking softly into the phone, "but I'd say it'll hold."

"Thank you." Sharon turned to Provenza. "When will Mr. Starling's assistant be ready to turn over the files?"

"She said an hour."

She thought for a moment, and suggested: "Get there fifteen minutes early." It never hurt to make sure the victim's employers weren't making a desperate shredder marathon. "I'll interview the girlfriend…" she gave them a questioning glance.

"Gina Bailey," Detective Sykes supplied from her desk, having just gotten off the phone. "Her alibi checks out; she was at the hospital until nine this morning."

The Captain nodded her thanks. "Detective Sanchez, Detective Sykes, please get copies of all of our victim's client files, as well as the names of any companies he may have consulted for in his private time. And see if he had any problems with any of his colleagues, or if anyone he worked with may have had any reason to dislike him…" She trailed off at the unwelcome sight of someone else walking up the corridor to them.

Provenza scoffed. "Speaking of disliking people you work with…"

"Forced to work with," Flynn corrected under his breath.

Captain Raydor motioned Sanchez and Sykes to get started, before turning her attention back to the other woman. When their eyes met, she involuntarily squared her shoulders and raised her chin; by the look on Rios's face, she had run up against Sharon's preemptive measures, and was not happy about it.

Then the Captain noticed that the DDA was not alone, and when she realized who the strangers were accompanying Rios, profound consternation spread over her features.

* * *

**A/N: This is my first MC story, so it's a totally new sandbox to play in and I have barely any idea what I'm doing! ****Feedback is immensely useful and appreciated. Thank you for reading!**  



	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much everyone for your feedback! I was overwhelmed at your enthusiastic and kind responses :) I'm very glad you're enjoying the story. **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (2)**

The hairs on Rusty's neck stood as he noticed that horrible Emma woman walking down the hall. His fists clenched. Why was _she_ there on a Sunday? She was followed by two people Rusty didn't know, a freakishly tall man and a thin, mousy-looking woman with a long neck. Both were dressed in mostly-black, austere clothing and they did _not_ look like good news. He instinctively hunched and shrunk in his chair.

His eyes sought out Sharon for an answer, but she was talking to Detectives Sanchez and Sykes and hadn't seen Emma coming yet; Rusty could tell the exact moment when she _did_ notice the other woman, from the way her expression turned bleak. She could say all she wanted to him about behaving, but obviously she hated the DDA from hell, too. At least Rusty hoped she did.

He watched Sharon wave off the detectives and walk up to Emma. She put herself squarely in the other woman's path, cutting off her access to the rest of the area. Not that it would do any good. All Rios had to do was wave some stupid court document and Sharon would _have_ to get out of the way. And then...

He couldn't see Sharon's face anymore because her back was to him now, and she was blocking his view of the DDA too. Not knowing what they were discussing only tightened the knot in his stomach. A few seconds in, he noticed that she shook the tall man's hand briefly. So she knew him? Was he a friend? _Why_ couldn't he see her face, damn it!

Then she said something to Flynn and Provenza and they nodded invitingly (or as invitingly as Provenza was capable of, which was basically a jerk of his head and a grunt) to the two strangers, signalling them to come along. As the four walked past the conference room toward Sharon's office, Rusty turned his head to follow them with a wary stare from behind the glass walls.

* * *

"Captain." Rios could barely contain her glare as she greeted the older woman. "I'd heard your team got a call today."

"We did," Sharon confirmed neutrally, having nodded her silent greeting, "but we're nowhere near making an arrest at the moment, so I'm not sure we have anything for you yet, DDA Rios."

If only it had been that easy to get rid of her.

"I'm here about our _other_ business," the other woman said brusquely, and waved her two followers forward. "Let me introduce you to Adam and Rachel Broades," (she narrowed her eyes at the subtle tightening in the Captain's expression), "who, as I mentioned to you yesterday, have offered to take in our material witness given the … circumstances."

Sharon let out a slow breath, trying to keep her anger from showing. This couple worked closely with DCFS, and after her phone marathon with the social workers in charge of Rusty's case just the day before, the _last_ thing she needed was for the Broades to paint her as hostile or uncooperative.

So she smiled pleasantly and shook the man's hand, noticing in the process that his grave facial expression seemed carved in stone. "Lieutenant Flynn, Lieutenant Provenza, would you mind showing Mr. and Mrs. Broades to the c –" she remembered Rusty's presence, and quickly amended, "… er, my office. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes," she politely requested of the couple, "I would love to discuss this further. Thank you."

Her smile held just as long as it took the Broades to walk away and out of earshot, and then she rounded on Rios, ready for battle.

"Bringing them here is overstepping your boundaries, DDA Rios," she stated in a low, warning tone. The admonishment only served to incense the other woman further:

"_Seriously_? You promised me full cooperation just _yesterday_," she reproached, "and now all my contacts at DCFS are avoiding me and I can't get any judge to take my calls! How's _that_ for overstepping boundaries!" Her eyes were wide with indignation.

"I said full cooperation _as long_ as our objective is the same: Rusty's best interest," Sharon reminded her. "We have yet to agree on what that is."

"I can tell you what it's _not_: your call!" Rios sounded exasperated. "The boy is in danger, and without _him_, Stroh walks!"

"I am a _police officer_, DDA Rios," Sharon enunciated. "As I have _repeatedly_ made clear, living with me will be much safer for Rusty than relocating with _any_ civilian foster family." She glanced back toward the couple in her office. "I have installed additional security in my home. _And_ –" she narrowed her eyes and held up a finger to forestall the next argument she knew was coming " – I contacted the school authorities, who have agreed to the presence of two officers on campus at all times until the danger to Rusty has passed."

The younger woman rolled her eyes. "You can't assign the LAPD to babysitting duty for the next few months until the trial!"

"If that's what it takes, I can and I _will_." It had been difficult, with the budget restrictions and the lack of manpower, and Sharon knew she'd be taking some heat for it. But it was worth it. "Rusty will be under police protection at the school, he comes straight here after school in a squad car, and I will be with him the rest of the time. There is no alternative that will offer _more_ protection against the threats made to him."

And she truly believed it. In her frantic attempts to contain the situation following the stunning reveal of the letters, Sharon had forced herself to take the time to wonder if relocating Rusty was not, in fact, the safer option. With his life and personal safety firmly in mind, she had made herself sit down and try to think about it objectively. The futility of the effort had nearly frustrated her to tears. But in the end she could honestly say that she had given the relocation option, if not proper, at least _some_ consideration.

And she'd come to the same conclusion: Rusty _was_ safer with her. She had gone over copies of those dreadful letters until the wee hours of the morning, until her eyes hurt and the words were etched in her memory. The threats were real, and they had escalated over the two months that Rusty had kept them secret. But if the author of the letters ever tried to find him, her address being unlisted would make it harder. And if, despite everyone's efforts, the author ever did find him (she couldn't help a shiver at the thought), Sharon much preferred that it happen in her presence.

That was what it all boiled down to, really. The thought of Rusty being _anywhere_ other than in her care while he was being threatened was just unacceptable. A police safe house with round-the-clock protection may have been more secure, but it wouldn't be _safer_ for Rusty than her apartment, because _she_ was in the apartment, and after reading those letters Sharon felt fairly confident that if anyone so much as _looked_ at the boy the wrong way she would tear them apart with her bare hands.

Those thoughts must have shown on her face, because Emma Rios passed both hands through her hair with an irritated expression."Okay, fine, _fine_, so he's got adequate protection," she relented. "That doesn't change the fact that him living with you is damaging to the case!" Her eyes were wide with indignation. "I don't care _how_ many cops you get to keep an eye on him, in fact if anything that makes it worse! You're going to get his testimony dismissed!"

"It's your job to prevent that," Sharon retorted equably. "My job is to keep him safe – and DCFS will _not_ require relocating Rusty without reasonable cause for concern about his safety."

"They'll do it with a court order," Rios threatened. She crossed her arms and leaned back slightly. "I don't know _how_ you convinced everyone to avoid me like the plague this weekend, but I hope you realize that come tomorrow that will end. I'm going to walk into the first judge's chambers I can find_, in person_, and petition for reassigning Rusty's guardianship on grounds that this situation endangers possibly the most high-profile murder case we have right now!"

Sharon lifted her chin. "And I am ready to demand a hearing to determine the best interest _of the child_."

A hearing would take a few days to schedule, longer if her friends at the DA's office came through. It could last for a few days, too. And every day that Rusty was safe and happy in her custody, Sharon's own case got stronger. Possession, as they said, was nine tenths of the law, and in this case the old adage applied well.

There was a brief silence, during which Rios regarded her with open resentment.

"You think I'm some sort of villain? We're working on the same side here! I'm trying to keep a _serial _killer _off_ the streets!" She clenched her fists and glared. "You have no idea what's going on in the Stroh case. You have no idea how the defense finds new holes to poke in our case every day. It took Chief Johnson _years_ to finally get Stroh behind bars, and I'm _trying_ to make sure he _stays_ there!"

Sharon crossed her own arms. "You are an intelligent woman –"

"Flattery won't –"

"I'm not flattering you," she murmured coldly, "please don't interrupt me. You are an intelligent woman and a capable attorney," she resumed. "If Phillip Stroh's lawyer is using Rusty's living situation to poke holes in your case, _figure out_ a way around it." She held up a hand to prevent Emma's protest: "I know you're trying to put Stroh on death row where he belongs – but don't for one second expect me to accept that the only way to do that is at the expense of an innocent sixteen-year old boy."

Emma twitched involuntarily at the word 'innocent', a hint of scornful doubt flashing over her face before she could stop it. Sharon withheld comment, but her icy look let the woman know she had seen it:

"It's been four months, DDA Rios. You're not going to win _this_ battle," she warned, "so I would focus on winning the Stroh case – _without_ disrupting Rusty's life any further. I assure you we'll be focusing on finding the author of those letters and keeping your _material witness_ safe."

She hoped she sounded a lot more confident than she felt; unfortunately, DDA Rios had not earned her current position by backing down from fights:

"I _am_ going to win my case," she promised. "And Rusty is going to help me do it. And _you're_ not going to stand in the way of that."

Sharon idly wondered how a five minute conversation could possibly feel so much like a ten-round boxing match.

* * *

Provenza read her expression a few moments later as they regrouped right outside her office. "I see that the lovely DDA Rios has worked her magic again." He was keeping his voice intentionally low so as to not carry further than the three of them. "Isn't she just a breath of fresh air?"

Flynn snorted. "Yeah, almost as fresh as what we smell at our crime scenes."

The Captain gave them both a wry look to let them know she wasn't in the mood, and she glanced worriedly to the couple waiting inside the office.

Flynn followed the direction of her gaze, and sighed. "They seem like…nice people."

"I wouldn't let them sit in direct sunshine though." At his partner's warning glare, Provenza conceded: "They're fine. If the kid has to go with them…"

"He doesn't," Raydor said shortly, then putting on a polite smile she opened the door to her office and once again greeted the Broades.

The two lieutenants had nothing left to do but walk back to their desks. Rios was now inspecting the murder board, and even from behind they noticed her cringe visibly at the crime scene photos.

Provenza glanced sideways at Flynn. "Think Morales will let us borrow one of his DBs to keep here?"

"The gorier the better."

* * *

The rest of the day had highs and lows, but at least DDA Rios did not return. Still her brief visit had wrought enough damage, especially as the Broades had requested to meet Rusty, and Sharon hadn't been able to think of a polite way to avoid dropping by the conference room for a greeting. The best that could be said about the sullen, monosyllabic affair was that it had been brief. And Rusty did seem marginally reassured when Rios and the couple left without further demands.

Not _sufficiently_ reassured to take Sharon up on her offer of going out together for a late lunch, but at least when she'd ordered pizza at the apartment that evening, he'd been content enough to wolf down almost three quarters of it, and even put on his usual show of not eating on the couch. He hadn't _talked_ to her much after plopping down on the living room floor with a plate and a pile of napkins the size of a dictionary, but Sharon knew to take her wins where she could get them in this case.

"Thank you," she murmured when he got up to take his plate into the kitchen and collected her empty wine glass too. "You can just leave them in the sink, I'll wash everything later." She didn't think it was worth running the dishwasher for so little.

"I can do it."

She set her case notes down on the couch, and watched him in contemplative silence. After about a minute, he couldn't ignore it anymore and snuck a sidelong glance while he scrubbed the last plate. "Sharon…?"

"Yes, honey."

"Did _you_ go to a fancy school like St. Joseph's?"

The out of the blue question surprised her. "Something similar, yes, in my home town."

Rusty turned his eyes back to the plate and grumbled: "Didn't they teach you there that it's not polite to stare?"

Sharon's eyes crinkled at the corners.

It felt like the first time she was able to take a breath in over two days. But even as she allowed her aching shoulders to relax against the back of the couch, apprehension still weighed coldly in her stomach. They'd lasted the weekend, yes. But DDA Rios and her threats loomed over still, and come Monday the woman would undoubtedly start fresh. And above that even was the sinister threat of the dozen letters, which had so insidiously fractured Rusty's illusion of a peaceful, almost-normal life.

And so on the quiet Sunday evening as she and Rusty kept each other silent, thoughtful company, Sharon could not help but wonder wearily what new trouble the next day would bring.

* * *

**A/N: As we slowly weave in the second part of the prompt ("meeting Sharon's family") here is a question for all of you: do we have any consensus on any information about Sharon's background other than the fact that she has a son named Ricky and a daughter? Do we know the daughter's name, Sharon's maiden name or general family background? **

**The one thing I remember is that she once meant to spend Christmas with her parents and kids in Park City. That _could_ mean that's where her parents live, but it's also a major tourist destination... so, no idea. Thoughts?**

**Thank you all for reading! Your responses have been incredibly encouraging.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much everyone for reading this story, and special thanks to those of you who take the time to review. Your comments are really helpful! Especially as I'm still quite new to this fandom (it was pretty much love at first sight... went through the episodes in an embarrassingly short amount of time), and I'm still learning the ropes. **

**I edited the ending of last chapter slightly. It's minor, and doesn't require re-reading to follow this chapter. But if you ever do go back for some reason and it looks different, that's why!**

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (3) **

Monday mornings were usually a mess. Servers were backlogged. Printers were jammed. People who had taken the weekend off were slow to get back into the rhythm of things. People who _hadn't_ been able to take the weekend off were grumpy. Suspects, witnesses and lawyers alike were overexcited.

In short, chaos.

And the Major Crimes division was not spared.

"Lieutenant." Captain Raydor sighed in exasperation. "Why is my report not printing?" It was barely nine a.m., the weekend had been nothing short of infernal and dealing with hardware issues was not making her any happier.

Provenza peered at his state-of-the-art, all-too-profitable printer. "Ah. It's because something's coming through on the fax." He waited a moment, and sure enough a piece of paper rolled out. "See? _Now_ it'll print. Oh, and this has your name on it..." He handed her the fax.

The Captain glanced over it and involuntarily rolled her eyes.

"I see the heading of the DA's office," Provenza commented. "The delightful Ms. Rios making sure we start the week right?"

She didn't even dignify the question with an answer. "Detective Sanchez, any luck with the mailroom boy?" She turned to the whiteboard to search for the name, which Amy Sykes had hastily written down the previous night. "…Pat Dawson?"

Provenza and Flynn exchanged an amused glance, prompting her to purse her lips in a faint expression of displeasure. Normally she would have wondered what they were up to, or been entertained by their antics, but today she was feeling unusually short-tempered.

Sanchez cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. There was a small band-aid right below his hairline, and a bruise forming on his collarbone. "Yes Ma'am. And no luck."

"Perhaps you should remind Mr. Dawson that assaulting a police officer is an imprisonable offense. As is obstructing a murder investigation."

He nodded.

"She wants Rusty to get a full physical?" Sharon was startled by Provenza's voice right over her shoulder; he was craning his neck to better read the fax in her hand.

Flynn frowned in confusion. "Do trials require that these days?"

The older man gave the Captain a wry glance. "What's she hoping, that there's yellow fever in your apartment?"

She shook her head. The request may have come out of the blue, but this wasn't a battle worth fighting. If the DA's office wanted it, she'd just get Rusty to a doctor and deal with it; after all physicals weren't the end of the world, and he was in perfect health.

In truth, she didn't even want to think about what Emma Rios' latest scheme may be. The woman had made it clear the previous day that she was not backing down – but the measures for Rusty's protection were in place, the boy was still in her custody, DCFS had not objected yet and Sharon _should_ have been feeling cautiously optimistic.

Should have, but wasn't.

She pushed the anxiety away and focused back on the case at hand. The murder that they had so inopportunely caught on a Sunday morning, when the only case she wanted to work on was the one contained in those damn letters.

_Dear Rusty…_

She exhaled sharply. "Lieutenant Tao." The man looked up from his desk, slightly startled at her snappy tone, and Sharon forced herself to modulate her voice: "Any luck on Starling's financial records?"

The lieutenant gave a lopsided nod. "Maybe." As the rest of the team walked over, he pulled up a list on his computer. "Everything in their records checks out _except,_" several rows on the list became highlighted in red, "these income statements and yearly balances."

The Captain frowned at the incomprehensible file names and tags. "Is our victim linked to any of them?"

"Uh, that's the weird thing – he's linked to _all_ of them." Tao gave her a slightly confused shrug. "These are all _his_ statements and forms, at least for the past year."

"And they're _all_ fishy?" Flynn looked incredulous, but Provenza just scoffed:

"What do you know, a financial director stealing money. Call the newspapers!"

Sharon's eyes flickered to him again, impatiently.

"I don't know that 'fishy' is the right word," Tao hedged. "I'm not exactly a forensic accountant, but it doesn't seem like these were falsified to conceal any significant amounts of extra income."

Provenza looked over his shoulder at the screen. "Why else would someone put in fake numbers on their forms?"

"It looks like they're just… wrong. Like someone wasn't paying a lot of attention when they filed them."

"Wrong..." Sharon repeated Lt. Tao's word, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I could buy one or two misfiled forms, but _all_ of them for a whole _year_ is too much to be a coincidence. Especially if they're the only irregular records for the entire company. Did our victim file his own statements and balances?"

"The company has a tax accountant on the pay roll," Sanchez offered, "but we don't know if he does everyone's forms."

She nodded. "Find out. If our victim did file his own forms, look into why he couldn't get the numbers right despite being a _very_ successful analyst. If he _didn't_ file them…" her eyebrows arched, "we'll have to ask the tax accountant why he seems to have done such a sloppy job on these particular statements…"

* * *

She was only marginally aware of the rest of the team proceeding to their respective tasks.

_Dear Rusty… _

…_so many young boys… end up dead…_

…_if you feel afraid…_

…_we must all make our peace…_

…_an old friend._

"Captain?"

Her head automatically turned in the direction of the call, but it took her brain a moment to catch up.

"Detective…?" her voice came out hoarser than she intended.

Sanchez was looking a little uncertain. "If you don't mind, I'd like to finish up with Pat Dawson…?"

She nodded silently.

"You sure you don't need some back-up in there?" Flynn chimed in from his desk, and he and Provenza exchanged a grin, missing their captain's warning glance.

"I think I'm good Sir, thanks," Sanchez deadpanned.

"I'm just saying, in case there's another rolled-up magazine lying around that _Mister_ Dawson can use against you …"

"It was a heavy-duty stapler," sighed Julio, prompting another guffaw from both…

"_Lieutenants_." Sharon's sharp reprimand caused their chuckles to die off, and she pressed her lips together to contain her unreasonable irritation. She exhaled and effortfully toned down: "Please let me know when you bring in the Starling's tax accountant. I'll be in my office."

The three of them watched her walk away with slow, measured steps, until the office door shut behind her. Provenza opened his mouth to make a comment, then thought better about it and abstained.

"Is the Captain mad about something?" Sykes asked with her usual blitheness, having walked in just in time to witness the last part of that scene.

Flynn gave her an exasperated sideways glance. Sanchez sighed.

Provenza rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sykes. We've got a tax accountant to pick up." He grabbed the jacket from the back of his chair. "Sanchez, go interview your ferocious attacker before anyone else finds out that it's a five-foot-two girl."

Then he met Flynn's eyes, and they both glanced toward the Captain's office. Flynn's shoulders twitched in a small shrug as if to say, 'nothing to do but wait it out', and Provenza replied with a disgruntled sort of sigh.

He hated feeling sympathetic. Things were so much easier when he could comfortably just hate the woman.

* * *

It wasn't until after the office door clicked shut behind her that Sharon realized she had left her coffee cup in the murder room. Maybe it was for the better – caffeine may have helped her feel more alert after the sleepless weekend nights, but she was already feeling sufficient jittery without the extra stimulation. Even so, she idly pulled open one of the desk drawers half-hoping to find another chocolate bar hiding at the bottom. No luck.

She winced on remembering how she'd snapped at Flynn and Provenza. Not that the two didn't occasionally deserve an earful, but this time her own irritation had colored her reactions, and she felt bad. It had taken a while to finally earn their respect – especially Lt. Provenza's, and she didn't want something like this to set things back to when he could barely address her without a sardonic grimace.

She really hoped it wouldn't. There was enough on her plate already.

A cold shiver ran down her spine as she reached for her bag. Inside were the crumpled copies of the letters; she had fallen asleep to them every night since Friday, trying to find a clue, _something _in the words that would tell them where to go next. But if a clue was in there, she couldn't find it. If the lab's examination of the original copies also revealed nothing, as it had with the first letter, they would be completely in the dark and at the mercy of the author.

Sharon's anxiety gave way to anger. She did _not_ like anyone else calling the shots on her home turf. And with the letters turning her own life upside down, that's exactly what the author was accomplishing.

She wasn't planning to take it lying down.

Her hands straightened the creases in the papers.

_Dear Rusty…_

_I read that a good family is the center of a good life. A child without a family is a stray sheep, and it's always the strays that get eaten by wolves. _

Her anger only increased. They were all like this, the letters. Bland, hardly individual, only the flavor of a personality behind them, never enough to draw any strong conclusions. This was a hiding predator stalking from the shadows, tantalizing them with veiled threats that they could not trace back to him.

A coward.

Only a coward would do something like this to intimidate a sixteen year old boy. Or… a madman. There were so many of them out there. Why did one have to pick Rusty?

…_because our fate is not always in our own hands._

_Sincerely,_

She pushed the letters away with an abrupt move.

There was a faint knock on the door, and without thinking she said "Come in." Only when Lt. Flynn had already stepped inside, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the xeroxed pages, did she realize she should have put them away first.

"Yes, Lieutenant." She calmly gathered the papers, folded them and placed them back inside the bag. "Any news on the case?"

"Not yet. Provenza and Sykes are bringing in the Starlings' tax accountant." He took another step. "You left these on my desk. Thought you might need them..." His hands held out her coffee mug, and the fax from the DA's office.

Sharon thanked him with a slight smile. "That's very kind of you, Lieutenant, thank you. Please get me when Lt. Provenza returns with our suspect…"

An obvious dismissal if ever there was one, but Flynn shifted a little and didn't leave. She fixed him with a questioning glance.

"Anything else…?"

He cleared his throat. "If there's anything you need on this other…business." His eyes involuntarily drifted to the spot on her desk where the letters had been.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she said neutrally, "but the best to do right now is focus on solving our current case." A hypocrisy, since she had so clearly been doing otherwise, but he was unlikely to point out the double standard.

However Flynn didn't back down as expected. "And we're _doing_ that," he acknowledged, "but if there's anything we can do to find the bastard who wrote those letters…"

There was nothing Sharon wanted _more_ than to open the case to her own team and put everything else on hold until they figured it out. But she was already virtually abusing the resources of the LAPD, with the security duty at St. Joseph's and the expedited lab tests and all the strings she was trying to pull to keep Rusty. Making the letters an official Major Crimes case would have been one step too far.

"Thank you," she repeated in a softer tone, after a moment of silence. "I appreciate that, Lieutenant. But… the letters to Rusty aren't a major crime, and I can't ask any of you to spend your working hours on it, not to – "

"You're not asking," he clarified. "We all want to get this son of a bitch as much as you do. And trust me," he gave her a serious look, "they're a major crime as far as anyone here is concerned. We look after our own."

And even though that solved nothing, not really, somehow Sharon's spirits suddenly lifted a little.

* * *

Across town, the same could not be said about Rusty.

He was having a tough day. Being picked up at school by a squad car had earned him plenty of ribbing when it had first started a couple of months before, but the other students seemed to have gotten used to it eventually. Having two policemen patrol the premises, however, was a whole new level of awful. He was once again a subject of conversation for the whole school. Every time he caught a pointed gaze and a whisper directed his way, he wished for nothing more than a giant hole to open up and swallow him.

That wasn't the worst of it though.

His gaze involuntarily drifted to the other side of the classroom, where Kris kept glancing back worriedly. She had tried to talk to him throughout the weekend and he'd ignored her calls and texts, but there was no way to avoid her at school. He'd spent the two brief recesses so far running from her, but she obviously wasn't getting the message.

He gave her a dark glare and turned his eyes back to the notebook.

Unfortunately, she _really_ hadn't been getting the message, because at the end of class she actually sprinted up from her seat and ran after him until there was just no point in even trying to avoid her anymore.

"What do you want, Kris?"

It irritated him that she looked so damn _worried _about him. She had no idea what was going on. Why did he ever have to make friends with her in the first place?

"Rusty – I'm sorry. I did what I thought was right. I was– I was scared for you. Those letters– "

"It's fine. It doesn't matter anymore. It's not like you can take it back. So… there, apology accepted, okay?" His hands held the backpack against his chest, a barrier between the two of them. "Now just… please? Stop… following me."

Kris looked disappointed, and somehow he felt bad. He'd felt bad from her from the start. She didn't know what she was dealing with.

No one really did, when it came to him.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Look…Kris… it's really fine, okay? I'm not like, mad at you or anything. I mean I _was_ but…" He shrugged. What was the point in staying mad at her? She was just trying to do what she thought was best. She didn't understand. In her world, adults still always fixed everything.

In his, the exact opposite was true.

Or had been true. Until recently. Until Sharon.

He'd always known it was a temporary situation, but back then all he'd wanted was a roof over his head, food and the knowledge that no one would come through his locked door at night. Sharon had promised him all that, and he hadn't believed her but there hadn't really been a lot of options. So he'd taken her promise in exchange for his good behavior, then sat back and waited for her to go back on her word.

And then she'd given him all that she'd promised, and Rusty hadn't known what to make of it.

And then she'd given him more.

And _now_… now he'd started to expect things, and believe in things, and he should've really known better because _of course_ the second he'd started to think that way had been the same second that everything had gone downhill. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago, and then over and over and over. Real life didn't cut you breaks. Real life was a bitch.

"Are you sure…?"

Kris' voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm sure. It's fine…" He sighed. "Don't worry about it. Whatever…"

His eyes looked past her face, to the front door far at the end of the hallway. A cross was mounted above it, which he had frankly been a little afraid of in his first weeks, not least of all because it didn't look all that well-secured to the wall. When he'd mentioned that to Sharon she'd just laughed, and he'd been annoyed at her, but the next day he'd walked through the doors no longer worried about the thing dropping on his head.

Then he stopped worrying about helping himself to the contents of the fridge whenever he wanted a snack. Then about taking the occasional nap on the couch. About arranging the clothes in his closet. Or referring to the closet as _his_.

The longer he'd waited for Sharon to go back on her word, the more she'd seemed determined to foil him. Even on the occasions when he'd broken his own part of the deal, regarding good behavior. For a grown-up, she was stubborn. And for a long time he kept waiting and she kept at it…

Until one night he'd gone to bed without worrying where he'll sleep the next day.

After that he'd done it every night. And Sharon still stuck by her promises.

Then Emma Rios had decided to destroy his life.

"Is Ms. Rios going to take you away?" Kris was creepy like that sometimes. Reading his mind.

He felt a knot in his throat, and only managed a shrug. "I have no idea. Maybe." She really didn't have the right to look that sad. This was _his_ sad moment, not hers. "I mean she's obviously _trying_ of course, because why _not_ ruin my life…but…"

"Can't your foster mom do something? To keep you?"

He tried for a glare, but only managed a miserable look. "I don't know, okay? It's not like they're bothering to _share_ anything with me at this point." He grimaced. "Payback for the letters, I guess."

That wasn't entirely true. Sharon _had_ said that no one was taking him away. But every night he could hear her fussing and pacing until early morning… and Emma had come to their house, and then she'd brought those _people_ to the station on Sunday and… and Sharon was trying to be nice, sure, but people said a lot of nice things when they were trying to get rid of you.

And even if she _did_ want him to stay, Emma obviously had the better position because Sharon always had to agree to everything the woman requested, even if she was horrible to him and everyone hated her.

All he wanted was a break. Even if real life didn't give breaks. He really, really, _really_ wanted and needed a break. If he never got anything else ever in his life, he wanted this now. Maybe he didn't deserve it, but he wanted it so bad. Just… a small break. For once. Please.

"Can't you ask her? Sharon? If you can stay?"

"Yeah, of course I _asked_ her, Kris…" he glowered – why was everything so simple for the girl? "But she's just being all… _nice_ and saying what I want to hear. I don't know what she really thinks. I don't know what's going on at all!"

"I don't think she'd say you can stay if she didn't mean it," Kris offered softly.

"People make promises they can't keep all the time," he retorted – then cut himself off.

Not Sharon.

He'd waited so long, and she'd never gone back on her word. She'd only done more than what she'd said, never less.

All Rusty wanted was to believe that he wouldn't lose everything again. To believe that he could get his break. To believe that _something_ good could happen.

Maybe Kris was right. Maybe this _was_ that simple. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes, one adult in a billion could really fix everything.

He scrambled to pull out his phone, so frantically that he nearly sent it flying across the hallway.

"Rusty…? You know we're not allowed to use cells during school hours…" Kris was giving him a confused look. "What's going on?"

"I know, I just really need to do this, it's important." His fingers were almost shaking as he typed a text.

_Are you at a crime scene?_

His phone buzzed less than a minute later.

_No. Are you OK? No phone at school! _

Rusty swallowed hard.

_Will E. send me away? _

This time, the pause was just slightly longer.

_No. It'll be OK. _

So far so good. He typed the next words carefully, letter by slow letter, and even glanced quickly up at the cross as he pressed 'send'.

_Promise me she won't? _

But even though he waited until the bell rang to signal the next class, and checked his phone so often that it ended up being taken away from him until the end of the day, no other reply ever came.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! And thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and everyone following and adding this story to their favorites. I love hearing from you. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this story.  
**

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (4)**

Lieutenant Flynn's visit had left Sharon with a cup of coffee and a little more peace of mind, both of which she was immensely grateful for. She decided to stop hiding in her office and face the world again, even if it meant going through the day battling a constant low-level buzz of anxiety regarding those damn letters.

Those damn letters.

She needed something to get her mind off that, at least while the they solved their current murder. Sykes and Provenza were still not back with the suspect, and she couldn't possibly get as immersed into the company's financial records as Lieutenant Tao. Going through the coroner's report would have been distracting, admittedly, but not exactly her idea of pleasant reading.

That left one option.

She ran into Lt. Flynn just as he was exiting the electronics room.

"Captain."

She returned the greeting with a nod. "Is Detective Sanchez done interviewing the Starlings' mailroom boy?" And there was that half-suppressed smirk again. Her earlier irritation curbed, now Sharon was genuinely curious. "Alright, Lieutenant, since _I _don't find an attack on my officers amusing – even if it was just a stapler–"

"A _heavy-duty_ stapler," Flynn amended gravely, earning himself a dry glance.

"–I'd love to hear what it is that you and Lt. Provenza find so humorous about this incident."

To her disappointment, he merely affected the most innocent mien, and held up his hands in mock-surrender. Sharon spared a warning look to let him know he wasn't fooling anyone.

"I'm starting to want to interview this mailroom boy myself," she muttered, at the exact moment that Sanchez stepped out of interview 1.

The Detective cringed at hearing her intentions, and Sharon turned an inquisitive look on him.

"Any luck, Detective? Did Mr. Dawson explain why he interfered with your examination of the records and attacked you?"

Behind her, Flynn stopped even trying and just grinned widely.

Sanchez cleared his throat. "Yes, Ma'am. It was a… misunderstanding."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'd like to have a word with this Pat Dawson."

Another cringe. "That's–uh, not necessary…"

Having already walked up to the interview room, Sharon glanced back at the smug Flynn, then gave Sanchez her are-you-kidding-me look, and opened the door.

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline.

"Finally!" A young woman threw her hands in the air. "Can I _go_ now?"

The Captain was still getting over the surprise. "Pat Dawson." The girl looked like she was twelve, although realistically she must have been closer to twenty. Sharon blinked. "_You_ attacked Detective Sanchez?"

"I thought they were breaking in!" the young woman squeaked. "It was Sunday evening, no one was supposed to be at the office!"

Baffled, Sharon looked to Sanchez, her eyes moving from his bruised collarbone to the scratch on his forehead.

"She took me by surprise with that stapler."

She looked back to the five-foot-two Pat Dawson.

"I do Tai Chi," the girl confirmed gravely. "I'm very stealthy."

The Captain bit her lips and smiled politely. "Excuse me for a moment." Closing the door, she gave Sanchez the same diplomatic, tight-lipped smile, though her voice, as usual, betrayed the feelings that her poker face successfully concealed: "I think you can handle this, Detective."

Sanchez sighed. "Yes, Ma'am," and glared at Lieutenant Flynn cracking up silently in the background.

* * *

It was good to know that she was still capable of finding humor in things. She hadn't felt like laughing in days; and even if the feeling faded in an instant under the weight of her worries, it still left behind a certain lightness that eased the tension from her shoulders a little.

Sharon was briefly entertaining the idea of sending Flynn and Provenza on some highly-unpleasant errand in return for their jokes at Detective Sanchez's expense (it was after all her right and duty as Captain to remind them that karma, to put it diplomatically, was not a very nice lady), when the appearance of Chief Taylor abruptly hijacked her train of thought. She mentally braced herself. She'd known this was coming.

The man did _not_ look happy.

Unless she was highly mistaken, which she usually wasn't, Sharon Raydor was about to have a very Brenda Leigh Johnson kind of moment.

Karma indeed.

"Captain Raydor." Chief Taylor's displeased expression intensified, and he got straight to the point. "Do you know anything about the LAPD doing daily eight-hour surveillance duty at a local private school?"

Next to her, she felt Lieutenant Flynn sobering up.

"It's Saint Joseph's," Sharon provided calmly, "the school Rusty goes to."

"Oh I am aware of the specifics, trust me. It was more of a rhetorical question." He scowled. "Did you authorize that kind of operation?"

"No."

"Because you don't _have_ the auth – what?" By the time he processed her reply, Taylor looked slightly taken aback. "Captain," he warned impatiently.

"I didn't authorize it," she maintained evenly, then virtually _saw_ the instant rise in his blood pressure when she added:"Chief Pope did."

Definitely a Brenda Leigh moment.

Surely enough, Taylor's expression grew thunderous. "And _why_ did the Chief of Police hear about this before I did?"

Because the Chief of Police owed her a favor.

"He must have heard it from the DA's office," Sharon offered. "I filed a petition for them to request _and fund_ the protection assignment, since Rusty is their…material witness. " She was really developing a distaste for those words. "They must've contacted Chief Pope to negotiate."

"And now the _LAPD_ is funding your 'assignment'. Some negotiation." Taylor pursed his lips in a dry expression. "Need I remind you that our budget doesn't allow this kind of _extravagance_?"

"I know, Chief," she acknowledged gravely, "which is why I _suggested_ this solution - it's cheaper than full-time witness protection."

"The _DA's office_ would have paid for the full-time witness protection, given the elevated _threat_ levels against _their_ witness."

Sharon smiled. "As DDA Rios reminded me just yesterday," she said pleasantly, "we all work on the same side. In the spirit of economy, it could be argued that saving money in one place is beneficial for both."

His eyes narrowed at her reply: "You were not hired to develop _economic solutions_, Captain Raydor," he bit back sardonically, "you were hired to solve cases. In the future, you should _stick_ to that. And it would be _beneficial_ for you to remember that requests should be processed through the proper chain of command." He gave her a dark look, but the edge was gone from his voice when he added: "I didn't think I'd ever need to remind _you_ about the rules, Captain."

And Sharon sighed in acknowledgment. "Believe me, Chief, the irony is not lost on me."

Taylor gave her one last displeased look. "_Don't_ make a habit of this, _Captain_," he warned, before walking off toward his office without waiting for another reply. Sharon watched him go, arms crossed, refusing to feel even a little bad about her decisions in this particular case.

She'd almost forgotten about Flynn's presence until he spoke again: "Wow - you went all the way to Pope with this."

Sharon gave him a silent sideways glance. She'd have gone all the way to _the_ pope with it, if necessary.

* * *

Flynn's intervention and the relief of having at least dealt with the backlash from Taylor may have eased some of her anxiety, but Sharon's heart still leapt in her throat when her cell phone buzzed with Rusty's number. The school strictly forbade cell use except in emergency situations; a hundred gruesome scenarios flashed through her mind in the couple of seconds it took to actually read the text.

_Are you at a crime scene?_

Okay, so it didn't sound like a crisis. Still Rusty had never broken the cell phone rule before, and he wouldn't do it for no reason.

The reason became apparent after her reply went through and his next text popped up almost immediately.

_Will E. send me away?_

Her heart went out to him. He'd asked the same question a dozen times over the past two days, and each time her reassurances had fallen just short of satisfactory. But no. She'd done _every_thing. Stricter rules. Increased measures. Now she'd even gotten the LAPD protective duty past Taylor. Rusty was essentially in a gilded cage right now, one small step above house arrest really… but it was _her_ gilded cage and that he would put himself willingly in it just to stay with her made something in her chest tighten.

She hoped her measures and his cooperation would be enough.

_No_. She typed the word more forcefully than intended. _It'll be OK. _It had to be.

The next reply really cracked the fragile serenity that she had been building all morning.

_Promise me she won't?_

He was asking for so little, and with all her heart she wanted nothing more than to give it to him…

"Oh, Rusty." Her whisper echoed sadly along her office walls.

…but she couldn't do it.

She couldn't, in good conscience, make him the promise he wanted, not when it could only too easily be broken by external forces.

But say what instead? _No_? _I can't_? _We'll talk later_?

_I'm sorry_?

Every child had a right to a home. And Rusty deserved it so much, after all he'd been through. And yet they were still trying to take it away from him.

Her fingers clenched around the phone and Sharon anticipated her next thought; it was a thought she knew she would regret, but it came unbidden anyway.

If this was the price, maybe Philip Stroh should just walk.

She felt awful as soon as she'd finished thinking it.

Emma Rios was right. She _had_ completely lost objectivity.

A rap on her open door made her turn.

"Provenza and Sykes just brought in the Starlings' tax accountant, Neal Thompson," Flynn announced. "You're gonna want to see this."

Sharon rose almost automatically, her hand still clutching the phone. As she followed the Lieutenant to the interview room, she kept glancing at the blank screen. What could she say to Rusty? Anything was better than nothing at all. But nothing at all was better than a lie...

* * *

Lt. Flynn had led her to electronics instead, rather than the interview room as she had thought. She started at the image of a bony, broad-shouldered man in his mid-thirties with just the start of a bald spot on his head. He seemed agitated, waving his hands around, and Sykes was trying to get him to settle down.

Sharon squinted. "What's wrong with his hands?"

"Says he hurt himself cooking," Provenza walked in, having left Sanchez to assist Sykes. "if you can believe it."

The Captain nodded. "Get photos of his injuries, and send them to Dr. Morales. See if they could've been caused while stabbing our victim."

"Fourteen times," Flynn remembered thoughtfully. "Bound to get messy. Hand's gonna slip…"

"_What_? You don't buy the _roast chicken_ story?" Provenza sounded indignant.

Sharon sighed and took a step back from the screens. Her eyes automatically went to the phone still in her hand. There hadn't been another message. But she knew Rusty was waiting for an answer.

An answer she couldn't give him.

"Captain." Lt. Tao poked his head in electronics. "We've got a possible murder weapon."

She couldn't think about her reply and solve the murder at the same time… and the sooner they closed the case, the sooner she could go back to focusing on the letters.

Squaring her shoulders, Sharon reluctantly placed the phone on the table, pulled herself together and nodded for Tao to continue.

* * *

She saw Rusty the second he walked in, shortly after two p.m., and when their eyes met across the room there was silent reproach in his wary gaze. Sharon remembered with a pang that she never had sent that last reply; her attempt to focus on the case had worked only too well.

She smiled anyway, because every time she watched him walk through the door she was grateful that they still had that, at least.

Rusty trudged slowly across the murder room, her eyes following his trajectory until he came to stand right by her and muttered a subdued: "Hi."

"Hi, honey."

The team had been in the middle of an involved review of their suspect's testimony, but discussion simmered down respectfully around the two of them.

"Did you have a good day at school?"

The flash of wry incredulity was both painful and endearing. "You're kidding, right?" Faced with her sympathetic expression, Rusty gave a long sigh. "It was okay…nobody tried to kill me yet, so that's good I guess…"

Sharon's expression sobered, with an involuntary almost-headshake that clearly said, 'don't even joke about that'.

Uncomfortable, Rusty fidgeted a little, shifting on the balls of his feet. His hand reached into his pants pocket. "Guess I'm supposed to give you this." He pulled out a folded paper, and only at the flash of dismay on her face did he realize what it looked like. "No, no Sharon it's just a teacher's note…" He all but shoved it at her in his hurry to prove that. "Here."

Luckily she _had_ recognized the blue flier after a second, although her heart rate took a little longer to return to normal. She arched her eyebrows slightly as she unfolded the paper, a fleeting smile on her lips at the memory of other notes she had received from her own children over the years.

"Teacher's notes…" Provenza scoffed, having obviously tuned one ear to their conversation. "Like what _anyone_ wants to get from their kids' school is _more_ paperwork."

Sharon hummed amusedly. "The blue ones aren't so bad," she murmured, her eyes glancing over the note, "it's the red ones I learned to really watch out...for... " Her amusement abruptly evaporated as she realized what the teacher was complaining about: Rusty's cell phone use. A sigh wrenched from her throat almost against her will.

The same question was still in his eyes when she looked up again. _Promise me she won't?_

Sharon folded the note and placed it on the desk behind her. "Don't worry it about this," she told Rusty. "We can talk about it later…"

And again she saw the shadow of disappointment in him. But he only shrugged and accepted what she could offer. "Okay. Fine, whatever…" He glanced unsurely around the murder room. "So… what do you want me to do?"

She felt a pang of sadness. He hadn't asked her that in months. Just a few days ago he'd have found his own answer – in fact he wouldn't even have walked up to her in the first place, not if he'd seen they were busy. He might have waved a greeting and made off to an unused desk to start on homework, or headed over to Buzz to complain about his latest English essay.

Friday's events had changed all that… And as Rusty waited uncertainly by her with that painfully expectant expression, Sharon realized that he really _didn't_ know what to do anymore. Didn't know where he stood. Not just with her. With all of them.

She motioned briefly with her head. "Why don't you wait in my office," she offered. "Get started on homework. As usual." She hoped her smile was reassuring. "I'll come by when we're done here…"

The words 'as usual' did the trick, as she hoped they would. Rusty nodded and even managed a small kind-of-smile of his own before he headed over to her office; she watched him until he had settled in a chair, gave him one last warm gaze which was rewarded with a vague wave, and then turned her attention back to the case and their plan to unravel the main suspect's lies.

* * *

It wasn't too long after that they caught a small breather – although Sharon would have preferred it not to come about because their suspect had invoked the right to counsel. Still, their case was strong enough now, and with the further evidence that she had asked Sanchez and Sykes to bring in, it would be fairly secure, even if it did end up in court.

"– if the victim's girlfriend IDs Thompson as the guy who stalked her, we've got motive." Flynn seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Ah, love." Provenza hummed. "Oldest story in the murder manual."

"Yeah, although I can't believe he went from a tax fraud set-up to multiple stabbings." Flynn rolled his eyes. "Feels like he skipped a few steps, you know?"

"The IRS must have not been moving fast enough for him," Sharon opined as they walked back into the squad room, "and he got tired of waiting for his rival to take the fall for the falsified records."

"Too bad we didn't get him to admit to that before he invoked," muttered Provenza. "You know the lawyer will argue that it wasn't premeditated. Might even go for self-defense."

"With _fourteen_ stab wounds?" Flynn scoffed incredulously. "Pretty sure the self-defense case is over after the first couple of 'em."

"With the evidence of him misfiling the victim's records and tax forms, we have intent to cause harm," Sharon picked up their case folder from the Lieutenant's desk, "so Mr. Thompson is certainly not getting self-defense. But more importantly, I think we can prove premeditation…"

"Without a confession?" Flynn sounded doubtful. "He's got no history of violence, never made any overt threats to the victim and the carving knife he used probably came from the victim's own apartment. Any halfway decent lawyer's at least gonna try for crime of opportunity. Even _I'm_ not convinced he planned to kill the guy ahead of time."

She hummed doubtfully as she pulled a page out of the case folder and scanned it quickly. The two detectives exchanged a glance.

"My sharp deductive reasoning tells me you're going somewhere with this Captain, but I'm not seeing it." Even after she handed him the page, Provenza still frowned. "Suspect's credit card statement… there's nothing on here that jumps out, unless you're talking about his really bad taste in Italian restaurants."

Sharon made a move to grab her phone, then realized she must have left it in electronics; her eyes flickered unconsciously to Rusty's figure in her office, then she refocused.

"The day of the murder, Mr. Thompson stopped by the "Bed, Bath and Beyond" on Vine at seven twenty-three p.m." She checked the coroner's report. "Dr. Morales put time of death somewhere between eight and eleven… Lieutenant, may I borrow your phone?"

Flynn's eyebrows flew up. "You don't think he actually bought the knife _on the way_ to his victim's house."

Provenza glanced at the credit card statement. "The charge is $108.98." He arched his eyebrows as the Captain used Flynn's phone to pull up the store website. "You're kidding me."

Sharon extracted an enhanced photo of the murder weapon from the case folder, and held it next to the phone screen, which now showed the standard picture of a carving knife. "Look familiar?"

The evidence of a murder on one of them notwithstanding, the knives in both photos looked almost identical.

"$99.99 at your local store." Flynn read. "With tax, I'm assuming it'll match the credit card charge."

Sharon handed him the phone and the photo. "Circumstantial, but with rest of our evidence it paints a very clear picture."

"I'll get this to Tao, see if we can get a copy of the receipt from the store."

Provenza shook his head. "Can't wait to show it to his lawyer."

"Let's hold off on that, and on resuming the interview until Detectives Sanchez and Sykes bring Ms. Bailey back for an identification… then we'll see if Mr. Thompson is ready to confess." She arched a knowing eyebrow. "Although I don't think he'll be getting a very good deal."

Her satisfaction dimmed somewhat as she realized that being ready to make a deal inevitably meant the return of DDA Rios. At the very least she had a chance to warn Rusty before that happened, so he wouldn't become worried all over again at the sight of the woman.

She walked over to her office, a slight smile spreading over her lips before she even fully opened the door.

Rusty looked up from his seat, a wary expression in his eyes, and that's when she noticed he was holding a familiar piece of paper; the letterhead of the DA's office was clearly visible at the top of the page.

He held up the fax with a fearful, accusing look. "What is this, Sharon?"

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter, the shift into the second part of the prompt ("meeting Sharon's family"!) will finally start to happen. Thanks so much to everyone reading this story, and of course those of you who review know that it absolutely makes my day to read your comments :). **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This might be the fastest I have ever updated a story. My self-imposed deadline is approaching (I would say fast, but it feels soo slow...although omg 10 days from tomorrow!), so I'm still going to try to post at least most of this by then. A big thanks to all of you out there reading and reviewing, for building my confidence to write these characters, and for keeping me extra-motivated! **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (5)**

"It's just a physical, Rusty." Sharon held out a hand for the fax, and she glanced over it one more time when Rusty gave it back. "I wouldn't spend any time worrying about it, it's probably just a formality." She placed the page back on her desk.

"It's Emma's idea, isn't it?" That alone was enough to put a note of panic in his voice.

"It is," she acknowledged, "but on occasion DDA Rios does make reasonable requests." A note of amusement sparkled in her eyes, sadly unreciprocated. "Don't worry about it," she advised again.

"How is this a reasonable request? I already had a million tests when this…_thing_ first started," he protested, "and that was just a few months ago! Why does she want me to do it again? And _when_," he glowered, "where you planning to tell me about it?"

Sharon's eyebrows arched slightly at the accusatory tone. "I only received the memo this morning," she replied calmly, her expression hinting that he should tone down, "and as I said – Rusty, I consider it nothing but a formality. Just like several others you've had to go through in preparation for the trial. Nothing to get agitated over."

"Yeah, because my 'trial preparation' with Emma has gone just _great_ so far," he said morosely. "Maybe _you_ forgot what it was like the first time, Sharon, but I didn't. Or like, every time after that. She hates me!"

She sighed. "_Emma_ won't be anywhere near when you do your physical," she assured. "So you don't have to worry about her antagonizing you or making you feel uncomfortable."

Rusty hunched his shoulders. "I don't want to do this."

Still standing by his chair, one hip leaning against her desk, Sharon regarded him for a moment in silence. "I'm sorry," she said finally, "but this is simply not a battle worth fighting. I can see that you don't like it, but that's just not a good enough reason to refuse the DA's office in this case."

"Right, because what I want doesn't matter." His eyes fixed the tips of his shoes.

Sharon crossed her arms slowly, with another sigh, and stared at him until finally he was forced to look up and meet her eyes.

"Rusty," she said patiently, "if there was anything about this that I thought would be in any way detrimental to you, I wouldn't let it happen. But honey, it's just a few medical tests. Tell me," she hoped her expression was persuading, "what would make you feel less worried about it?"

"If I didn't have to do it," he grumbled, then grimaced at her look. "Yeah, I know, not a battle worth fighting." He met her eyes again. "Are you sure she's not trying to say that you're like, not feeding me or something?"

A smirk of amusement flitted almost involuntarily across Sharon's lips. "I'd qualify that under 'highly unlikely'."

Rusty's shoulders slumped as some of the tension drained out of him. "I still don't want to do her stupid physical…"

She bit her lower lip, thoughtfully. "You can drive us to the clinic. And to a nice dinner place afterwards… of your choosing."

"That's bribery, Sharon," he informed her.

"I prefer to think of it as 'incentive'."

* * *

Only a few minutes later, she noticed Sanchez and Sykes walk in with the victim's girlfriend, and knew it was time for the final stretch of the case. Emma Rios arrived right afterwards, and when Sharon diplomatically asked Rusty to stay in her office, he not only agreed but looked as though he would've been happy locking the door behind her and pulling the blinds.

Sharon half-wished she could afford the same luxury.

The girlfriend ID'ed their suspect within seconds, and then all there was left to do was consider what deal, if any, they would offer the man, who was conferring privately with his lawyer. Having been swiftly brought up to date on the details of the case, Emma took advantage of the momentary lull to walk up to Sharon in the squad room.

"Did you arrange Rusty's physical?" The woman had all the manners of a bayonet.

"I'm going to call the doctor's office as soon as this case is over," Sharon replied with false cordiality, "if that's soon enough for you, DDA Rios?"

"That's fine." She ignored the Captain's twitch of annoyance. "Don't forget to ask for an AIDS test."

The look in Sharon's eyes could have frozen over an ocean. "Rusty was already tested when he first came to live with me," she said warningly, "so I want a _good reason_ for that request."

"That was months ago," Rios was undeterred, "and you need a new test six months after the last… chance for infection. DCFS agrees on this, and it's already overdue," she added. "It's standard procedure and I want it done."

Her demanding tone set Sharon's nerves on edge, but in her current position she had to pick her battles. "Fine," she acquiesced, more curtly perhaps than was her usual manner, but her patience for Emma Rios was frighteningly thin these days.

"You can fax the results over to my office and DCFS."

"_Lieutenant Tao_." Sharon felt bad for startling him again, but abruptly walking off toward his desk had been the safest reaction. If DDA Rios tried to give her one more order, she was concerned about the possibility of a homicide right there in the appropriately-nicknamed murder room. "Do we have the receipt of Mr. Thompson buying the murder weapon yet?"

"We do," he confirmed. "Same type of knife, bought about half hour before the time of death window, with his credit card number attached..."

She didn't want to tell Rusty about the extra test. He was understandably raw about anything having to do with his year of living on the streets – and Emma Rios made things ten times worse by showing zero sensitivity to his feelings. His earlier reaction was proof of that… but doing the test without his knowledge felt wrong, too.

It was a detestable choice.

"Captain Raydor." She looked over her shoulder to see Buzz holding out her phone. "You left this in electronics earlier…it's gone off a few times, but I didn't know for sure who it belonged to until Lt. Flynn told me."

With a sigh, Sharon retrieved her cell. "Thank you, Buzz." A glance at the screen revealed that she had several missed calls and messages, which was not all that surprising given all that was going on. The gruesome murder of the financial director. A young serial killer having recently shot himself mid-operation. And of course the threatening letters. She was surprised the phone had stopped ringing at all. And at barely three o'clock, the day wasn't anywhere near over.

She glanced at DDA Rios, and silently prayed the woman would close her deal and leave, if there was any chance of getting through the rest of the day peacefully.

* * *

Unexpectedly, it wasn't DDA Rios who preempted that much-hoped-for peace – at least not directly. It was Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza who had unwisely brought up Emma's latest request just as Sharon was about to enter her office to pick up some files. With the rest of the squad room empty and quiet, and the door to her office nearly open, their loud voices had effectively terminated her dilemma about what to tell Rusty.

With the ensuing outburst, they both felt bad, but it was too late to do anything about it. She didn't really blame them, anyway… and was in fact slightly touched when they dutifully flanked her while she dealt with the consequences of their big mouths.

Not that their presence made much of a difference.

From the corner of her eye, Sharon once again noticed her cell vibrate next to her handbag; there were probably half a dozen LAPD departments cursing her unavailability at the moment, but the outside world would have to wait a little longer.

"I don't have _AIDS_, okay?" Rusty's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I was always – I never – it's just not _possible_, alright?"

"I know." She held up both hands in an appeasing manner. "I know, Rusty. It's just standard procedure to redo the test after six months."

"That's _stupid_! It's not _necessary,_ because I'm not _sick_!" He was half-pleading, half-angry. "Why is Emma doing this to me? What did I ever do to her anyway? Why does she hate me so much?"

"Rusty–"

"She's treating me like I'm still on the streets! I'm not some, some…"

"I know."

"Why are you letting her _do_ this to me, Sharon?"

A few steps behind the Captain, Flynn and Provenza exchanged a grim look; the kid really knew which buttons to push when he was mad, that much was clear.

Luckily, the Captain was holding her own, too. "Rusty, none of this is made any better by losing. our. calm. You're overreacting – _no_," when his eyes widened in indignation, she held up a hand to prevent more protests, "just listen to me for a minute, please. I know you're upset," she said softly, "and I know, honey I _know_ this is an unpleasant situation, but getting angry over it isn't going to help."

"Then _what's_ going to help? Because I _tried_ to be good about it and every time, Emma just finds something else!" He gave her a desperate look. "I don't have AIDS, Sharon!"

"I _know_. This is just a– "

"It's not 'just a formality'!" he interrupted desperately. "It's because Emma's still trying to make me move and _those people_ won't take me in without these _tests_ because I used to pick up men for sex on Sunset Boulevard!"

Sharon closed her eyes briefly. "Rusty–"

"It's true, isn't it? She's not letting this go!" He threw his hands in the air. "Because _every day_ she's doing something else, like _literally_ every day Sharon! Coming over to your apartment, bringing those people here yesterday, and now this! Is this what it's gonna be like from now on?"

Her gaze softened. "No, it won't. It's just a bad few days. This is a new situation, and we all need to adapt to it…"

"Then why did the Broods come here to meet me? Why the sudden tests?"

The phone on her desk went off, and he turned a resentful glare on it; after the slightest hesitation Sharon reached over and turned off the ringer from a side button, leaving only a flashing yellow light to indicate the incoming call.

"Rusty you _know_ this is not my call," she said seriously. "Like I said, I don't think there's anything to be worried about – but I'm afraid this physical isn't open to negotiation," she finished a note more sternly. "We're going to comply with the request from the DA's office because it's the right thing to do, and this entire… scandal is unnecessary."

He just gave her the same half-angry, half-pleading look and kept pacing the far end of her office, far from reassured.

* * *

Lt. Andy Flynn was really wishing that in his approximately five decades on Earth he'd learned how to keep his mouth shut.

A great deal of troubles in his life might have been avoided by that. And at least one sensitivity training class.

He liked to think he'd gotten better at it in his later years, but on occasion he still spoke or acted before he thought, and more often than not it landed him in some kind of hot water. Usually with his trusted partner paddling somewhere in the vicinity. He didn't mind so much really, it kept things interesting and gave them something to laugh about after the invariable lectures from some indignant suit, and at the end of the day this was who he was, and there _was_ that thing about old dogs and new tricks.

On this occasion, though, his big mouth had caused trouble for Captain Raydor, and for that he felt awful. In his and Provenza's defense, they hadn't imagined that a sarcastic quip about Rios's demands would end up causing world war three, but damn it, they'd known how touchy the situation was and they should've just kept their traps shut about the whole thing.

He understood the kid to some extent, really – although if _he'd_ been on the receiving end of Rusty's barrage he'd probably have burst a blood vessel by now. Still, the boy made at least one valid point, namely that DDA Rios was acting like he was the criminal, and in her zeal to anticipate all the defense lawyer's tactics she'd successfully alienated her star witness beyond the point of no return. If she'd had any common sense, she might've quit trying to constantly steamroll over his wishes and shown a little sensitivity. Instead, she just kept making demands and systematically threatening the few things the kid most wanted to hold on to.

Obviously that was going to backfire spectacularly.

So he couldn't exactly blame Rusty for being philosophically (and vehemently) opposed to any idea that came from DDA Rios, especially if it once again painted him in the unflattering strokes she usually employed.

But _man_, was this conversation a train wreck hard to watch.

A dour look from Provenza indicated that his partner shared his general thoughts.

With the conversation in a 'you can't make me' kind of stage, the teenage motto from the dawn of time, they could tell even the Captain was feeling exasperated, although she was doing a good job maintaining a calm demeanor. Of course, she was the kind of person who only got calmer and more soft-spoken as she got angrier, so that didn't really say much about her state of mind.

So when the tension became too much and Rusty morosely mumbled some excuse to get out of the office, rushing off before Sharon was even halfway-done acknowledging it, and she made a tired move to go after him, Flynn tried to figure out something encouraging to say. Then her desk phone went off yet _again_, and she paused in her tracks and glanced uncertainly between the phone and the door...

"Why don't you let us give it a shot," he suggested with uncharacteristic diplomacy, and was rewarded with a grateful look.

Provenza shook his head in sympathy. "One good thing about getting old…don't have to deal with those teenage hormones anymore."

The Captain just sighed, and walked around the desk to pick up the phone. "Raydor."

* * *

In his hurry to get to _anywhere_ that wasn't the squad room, Rusty didn't bother to look where he was going, so it was with some surprise that he slammed full-force into Buzz, causing the man to drop an armful of files and trip against a nearby table corner. "Sorry!" He felt bad, but he didn't want to talk to Buzz, and Buzz probably didn't want to talk to him, _especially_ not now…but before Rusty could rush off again a hand grabbed his upper arm to hold him in place.

Provenza arched an unsympathetic eyebrow: "What do we say when we run over people?"

That of course was enough to evaporate Rusty's residual guilt over the incident, and he gave the Lieutenant a stellar teenage are-you-kidding-me look. "I said I was sorry!"

"Yeah? Well I still see about a hundred papers on the floor," Provenza grumbled pointedly, "so you must've not said it loud enough."

Rusty rolled his eyes, but he kneeled to help the young surveillance specialist with the papers.

When he finished organizing and handing back a large stack of them and Buzz said a quiet "thanks", he even muttered something that may have been an acknowledgment, or another apology, but in any case was too unintelligible to tell for sure.

Sensing that something was definitely off, Buzz looked up questioningly at Lt. Provenza, who saw fit to explain:

"Having a bad day. Captain's trying to get him to do a routine physical exam – horrible stuff."

Rusty glared at the sarcasm in the older man's voice, but didn't comment. He was _trying_ to be good about it, he really was. But they just didn't understand. They didn't know what it was like. They didn't know the stakes.

"You know you're gonna have to do it anyway," Flynn put in, "so why not just make it easy for all of us and just go with it. The Captain's right, it's for your own good."

The last thing Rusty wanted was to discuss that _any_ further with _any_ of them, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them:

"Seriously? Did you not _see_ those _people_ yesterday!"

Oh had they ever. As a matter of fact, Provenza had derisively advised Raydor not to let the couple sit in direct sunshine.

"Okay, fair enough," Flynn conceded, "but no one's sending you to live with them. The Captain's doing everything she can to make sure of that, and you sure as hell aren't making it any easier for her with this kind of –"

"No one makes anything easy for _me_!" Rusty protested. "I don't get any opinion on my own _life_, like I have absolutely _zero input _anymore, Emma thinks she freaking _owns_ me – and Sharon's letting her just do whatever she wants!"

"Don't start with that again," rumbled Provenza. "You know by now that's a load of bull. Hell, I've seen people who didn't go to the mat like this over their _own_ kids…" He trailed off as he realized what he was saying, and Flynn shot him an annoyed look, but it was too late.

Rusty's expression closed off immediately. "Yeah, thanks. I'm aware of my situation. So because neither of my parents gives a damn, I'm public property, is that it?"

Provenza backpedalled regretfully. "Now, that's not what I mea –"

"You know what, forget it," the boy swallowed hard and struck a stubbornly defensive posture. "I'm not getting those tests, and I'm _not_ going home _with those people_! I don't care _what_ Emma wants, I'm not helping her hand over my…my _leash_ to the freaking _Addams family_!"

"Kid, stop yelling," Flynn said in low voice.

"You'd be yelling too if that woman was trying to do this to you! _I'm_ the one who's being threatened! _I'm_ the one who's entire life has been messed up! How is it fair –"

He trailed off as he noticed the Lieutenant's gaze, and turned warily to look over his shoulder in the direction of Sharon's office.

Through the glass walls, they could see her sitting down at her desk, eyes closed in a pained expression as though she were fighting off a migraine. One hand was still holding the receiver, but she didn't seem to say anything for a while, then they saw her lips moving to ask 'when', and her brow furrowed further. She looked down at her desk without saying anything else for another few seconds, and then she said 'okay' and a few other words they couldn't make out.

Finally, she let her head drop against the back of her chair, eyes gazing skyward for a moment, then slowly replaced the phone in its hook and, clasping both hands above the desk in an almost-prayer like gesture, lowered her forehead against her interlaced fingers.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I'm awful. In my defense for heaping all this drama on these poor people, I do believe life wouldn't stop just because they're having one crisis to deal with. Especially not the life of a police squad. So yup, threatening letters, cases, awful DDA from hell... and more! Welcome to real life which, as Rusty noted last chapter, is ... hrm, not a very nice lady. But the point of having a family, by blood or otherwise, is so you can help each other through this stuff even if it's not exactly smooth sailing. (at least not in my family!) And hence the title of this story ;).  
**

**Thanks again to everyone reading, and to those of you who take the time to review, I'm super, super grateful. You absolutely provide that extra motivation necessary to keep these chapters coming at a fast pace, and your comments always make me smile :). **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:Guys, I'm sorry about all the stupid small typos and things... I swear I proofread each chapter a dozen times, both before and after posting, but my brain sometimes just reads what I think should be there as opposed to what is actually there on the page... I'm mostly literate I swear! :P  
**

**Thanks so much to all of you reading this story, and special thanks to those of you who consistently review!  
**

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (6)**

The squad room was completely silent, the previously heated conversation abruptly cut off by Flynn's admonishment. The two lieutenants, Rusty, and Buzz now stared toward the Captain's office with varying degrees of apprehension. There was a gravity to the air as Sharon continued to rest her forehead against her joined hands, no further indication as to her state of mind.

"Thompson's lawyer says he's ready to talk." Detective Sanchez had stopped in the doorway to make the announcement. "Can you let the Captain know we're waiting in electronics?" Only then did he notice the unusually sober atmosphere, and took another step inside the room. "What's going on?"

His eyes automatically followed theirs to the glass walls of the Captain's office, but he caught only a glimpse of her contemplative stance before her head turned abruptly to the desk phone once more. She reached out slowly, with a completely blank expression, and picked up. Within a few seconds, however, she shook her head, her business face slipping on as she made a brisk answer into the receiver, and reached for a file in the pile on her desk. The conversation carried on for another few seconds in a perfectly unremarkable manner, prompting Sanchez to give the others another questioning look.

Flynn, Provenza and Buzz exchanged a glance, and Provenza shrugged. He didn't know what to make of it, either. Maybe it was nothing. His eyes flickered briefly to Rusty, whose wary gaze was still glued to the Captain's office.

Maybe it was something.

Either way, they weren't going to find out by standing around gaping. "Better not keep our stabby tax accountant waiting, then," he said decisively, and walked off toward the office. "I'll let the Captain know we're ready for her."

* * *

Lt. Provenza hadn't known exactly what he was expecting to happen when he knocked on Raydor's door, but what he got was a big fat nothing and a lot of bad feelings. The woman looked up at his entrance, and maybe her complexion was a note paler than usual, and maybe her eyes were just a little brighter, but that was where the story ended. She certainly didn't _volunteer_ any information, not even when he tried to ask her if everything was okay by means of his most effortful overtures consisting of a meaningful look and a grunt.

The next few minutes shed no further light on the issue, as the Captain proceeded in the most business-like manner to the electronics room, and efficiently squared away the last details with DDA Rios before watching Sanchez and Sykes get the confession and close the deal. Her professional detachment hadn't slipped even a little throughout the process, not even when she'd passed the wound-up Rusty in the squad room and spared him only a restrained sort of smile.

If her brushing off the kid wasn't fishy, Provenza didn't know _what_ was.

* * *

With the confession obtained and recorded and the suspect officially in custody for the unusually violent murder of one of his bosses, their role in the case was more or less over. They left Rios to finish dealing with the lawyer and sign the necessary documents on behalf of the DA, and regrouped in the squad room. Provenza and Flynn were still sneaking the occasional furtive glance at the Captain, but she seemed content to listen quietly to the team's commentary on the highlights of the now-closed case. Her input was sparse, though, and her thoughts seemed elsewhere for most of it.

She did refocus long enough to congratulate the two detectives who had obtained the confession unassisted by any of their superiors : "That was a well done interview, Det. Sanchez, Det. Sykes." And of course Sykes immediately began to radiate at the praise, enough to set off Geiger counters. "Good job."

And damn it, yes, her eyes did look a little more watery, and her voice sounded just a tad lower and softer than usual, but again if he hadn't been looking for it, Provenza would have been hard pressed to find anything off about her. Still, he hadn't been a police investigator for nearly forty years without learning how to look past appearances. _Something_ was up.

Or maybe she was just tired. God knew the last few days had been a nightmare all around, the woman needed a break and a goddamn glass of wine, by the looks of it. Of course in his experience, life rarely gave breaks exactly when needed – especially not on crazy Mondays like the one they were having.

As if to confirm that belief, Chief Taylor appeared in the doorway. "Captain Raydor, I have news stations calling my secretary every ten minutes over the public statement regarding the North case…" He sounded irritated, and she returned a professional nod:

"FID has cleared our division of any wrongdoing, I have their report on my desk. And I just heard from SIS, they'll fax their own report over to our office by four p.m. and we can prepare a statement, maybe in time for the six o'clock news."

The brisk report seemed to reassure the Chief: "Good." He paused to glance at the murder board. "Any news on this?"

"Detectives Sanchez and Sykes have just gotten Mr. Thompson to fully confess to stabbing our victim fourteen times." She sounded only slightly out of breath. "He's been officially arrested and DDA Rios is finishing up with his lawyer as we speak."

"That was quick." At Taylor's impressed tone, Sykes looked like she might melt. "Good, because I just heard from Captain Hudson in Robbery-Homicide, and they have a case they think is more our jurisdiction. One of their detectives is bringing up the details..."

Raydor returned a tight smile. "We can hardly wait. Chief," she called softly as he turned to leave, "may I have a moment of your time, please?"

Flynn and Provenza exchanged a sombre glance: this was far from a usual request. It caught Tao's attention too, his brow creasing ever so slightly in a questioning look.

Taylor's eyebrows arched impatiently. "Captain, I've got –"

"This will only take a minute."

Taylor opened his mouth to argue again, but catching her expression he paused; his eyes stared her up and down for a moment and finally he nodded. "Why don't you come to my office."

"Thank –"

"Chief Taylor," DDA Rios walked into the room to the general displeasure. "It's good to catch you – I have a few questions on behalf of the DA's office regarding the North case, just to make sure everything's wrapped up properly."

He returned his characteristic, pleasant impersonal smile. "Well what a fortunate coincidence, in that case. Captain Raydor and I were just about to talk, you can join us and she'll be able to explain better than –"

"Actually. " Sharon interrupted quietly. "I was hoping for a private conversation, if you don't mind, Chief."

The rest of the squad was picking up on it by now, as well; her tone was _too_ subdued, her manner too reserved. Meanwhile, Emma looked somewhat taken aback, as though she wasn't in the know, either; her inquisitive gaze almost automatically sought out Rusty in the Captain's office and she looked about ready to roll her eyes, but managed to contain it.

Taylor closed his mouth, his lips pursing slightly. "Why don't you give us a minute, DDA Rios," he said in his saccharine tone. "My secretary will let you know when we're ready." With that, he marched toward his office with some irritation, Captain Raydor following him in silence.

Thus deferred, DDA Rios suddenly found herself a little uncomfortable in the middle of the squad room, with everyone's eyes on her.

Provenza leaned back in his seat. "Does anyone else smell sulfur?"

* * *

It was only a few minutes later that Captain Raydor walked back into the squad room, her demeanor as impenetrable as before; passing by DDA Rios she paused and motioned toward the Chief's office.

"I believe Chief Taylor can see you now." Her voice was still lower, breathier than usual.

Emma started to walk over, almost relieved to leave the room, but after a few steps she stopped and turned, a somewhat confused expression on her face. "I thought you were joining us."

"That won't be necessary," Sharon assured. "Chief Taylor will give you the information you need on the North case."

"Oh…kay…" once more Rios looked slightly taken aback, "there's also the issue of the sentencing hearing for Thompson, so after I'm done talking to Taylor –"

"Detectives Sanchez and Sykes will be available to discuss the details on that with you," Raydor said evenly, after which she simply stared at the younger woman with a neutral look, until DDA Rios had nothing left to do but resume her path to Taylor's office.

As soon as the echo of Emma's heels had faded down the corridor, Sharon turned back to the rest of the team, encompassing them all with a long, silent look. There was still a vaguely detached air about her, as though her thoughts weren't fully on the present moment. Tao, Sanchez and Sykes stared back a little uncertainly, while Flynn and Provenza waited tensely for whatever news she had to share.

The Captain turned to the older man. "Lieutenant Provenza."

He straightened in his seat with a serious expression.

"When the detectives from Robbery - Homicide arrive with the details of the case Chief Taylor mentioned, please take point on that," she requested tiredly. "Make sure we have all the information we need…_and_ a clear understanding of what level of involvement they're expecting," she sighed in an afterthought. "We don't want this to degenerate into a turf war."

Provenza bit back a snide comment about inter-division jurisdiction woes. "Yes, Captain."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but changed her mind. "Thank you." Then with a slight dip of her head, she said "Excuse me", and headed toward her office, Flynn and Provenza following her with uneasy gazes.

The Captain exchanged a brief greeting with Rusty, the boy looking at her with apprehensive expectancy. He seemed to brace himself when she pulled over a chair and sat down right by him so she could face him without any obstacles between them.

* * *

It didn't take long to tell that everyone in the squad room was in some way or another keeping an eye on the Captain's office, no matter whether they tried to do it subtly (Tao, craning his neck a little from his badly-positioned desk, and Provenza, gaze flickering over above a report), gravely (Flynn, not even bothering to hide it), painfully obviously (Sykes, who even asked the rest of them what was going on), or tried very hard not to look at all (Sanchez, his gaze resolutely fixed on a paper in front of him with a frown, and Buzz, who watched the rest of _them_ warily, instead).

Oh they all knew very well that they should mind their own business ; observing the Captain's private conversations through her glass office walls was just one small step above snooping, and she'd definitely have been displeased had she noticed the entire squad staring like a bunch of nosy housewives. Then again, it was a small workplace and they were all in each other's business anyway, and as the division leader she was twice as exposed. And ultimately they were _mostly_ only nosy because they'd come to genuinely like the woman, so really she shouldn't complain.

Granted, Raydor might not have seen it that way, but at the moment she wasn't likely to notice anything anyway.

They couldn't see her face anymore from the way she'd positioned herself, or hear anything of course, but Rusty's expressions were a story onto themselves. His anxious recalcitrance as he listened to her gave way to a gloomy, resentful sort of bitterness as he made a reply…but then things changed abruptly. Whatever the Captain said next made the boy grow briefly uncertain, then his eyes widened and his expression dissolved into some sort of horrified alarm. From the dark glare he went to a series of frantic nods, his hands waving unsurely in the space between them, until he was finally quiet and stared at her with a tentative, nervous expression.

* * *

Less than a minute later the Captain had resumed her usual seat at her desk, and Rusty walked out of her office, with one last glance behind before closing the door. There was no way to miss the questioning looks from the rest of the division as he walked through the murder room, and Flynn, having had enough of the heavy tension already, was halfway out of his chair to cut him off.

"What happened, kid? What's wrong?"

Rusty looked conflicted for a moment, glancing back toward Sharon's office again; he fidgeted uncomfortably before making his decision. It wasn't his business to say, true enough, but then they'd have found out anyway and this way at least she didn't have to tell them. Hands shoved nervously in his pockets, he looked up at Lt. Flynn with a still-unsettled expression, and swallowed. "Sharon's dad died."

A grim silence descended over the room. Provenza lowered the report he'd been fake-reading and sighed.

* * *

Andy didn't really know whether his, or anyone's, presence was welcome, but after Rusty's reveal it didn't feel right _not_ to say something. So when the Captain left her office about a minute later, he glanced at his partner for one extra sanity check, and when Provenza's head had twitched almost imperceptibly toward her, he got up to intercept her as she crossed the murder room.

Sharon noticed his abrupt movement and must have read something of his intentions, and though she didn't stop her beeline for the door, she did slow down the slightest bit, which wasn't exactly an invitation but at least it wasn't telling him to stay away, either.

Unfortunately, before he managed to fall into step with her, Emma Rios once more appeared in the doorway, her timing having apparently become as horrendous as her general manner. The Captain made a slight move to go around the woman…

"Chief Taylor told me about what happened," Rios launched without preamble, her expression a little uncomfortable. "Captain Raydor, I'm sorry for your –"

"_Thank you_, DDA Rios," Sharon softly but pointedly cut her off, "I appreciate that." She looked toward the door again, meaningfully. "If you don't mind, I have several things to attend to…"

But Emma didn't back off, even as she acknowledged the not-so-subtle hint. "Of course, but … I'm going to need a few minutes of your time before you leave, to discuss what we're going to do about Rusty now."

The Captain's expression turned chilly. "What we're going to do about Rusty…?" she repeated, her tone a muted warning.

"Well – yes," Rios seemed almost surprised that the other woman would even need to ask. "Since you can't take him with you and obviously he can't stay here alone, so there are a few formalities to…" She trailed off, her eyebrows flying up in disbelief. "You… _weren't_ actually thinking to take him with you, right?" She shook her head, almost perplexed. "Oh my god…"

* * *

**A/N: Okay so now we know what the new crisis is - but if you're thinking you know how the "Rusty meets Sharon's family"prompt will go, let me just tease that this might have to be a case of the mountain coming to Muhammad, because DDA Rios is not letting Sharon take her star witness anywhere out of her sight. :P  
**

**Also, we'll be seeing Rusty's actual conversation with Sharon from the other side of her office door in the next chapter. **

**Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, forecasts and general ideas:)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'd planned to post this last night, but couldn't decide how to parse the next few scenes into chapters, so that took a while to figure out... This chapter focuses mostly on Sharon's reactions (and of course the fallout with Emma), but we'll see more of Rusty doing his best to handle things in the next one.  
**

******Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this story!**

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (7)  
**

_Ten minutes earlier..._

Sharon had pulled over a chair and sat down to face him, her hands folded in her lap. Her sad, thoughtful look only made the knot in his stomach tighten.

It wasn't her fault. He'd repeated that to himself a dozen times. What was going on wasn't Sharon's fault. He could tell she was unhappy about it too, not that that made him feel any better. If anything it made him feel worse, because now _both_ of them were sad and yet they _still_ didn't have a choice and that was all so unfair that he couldn't _not_ be angry! Why, why, _why_ did those letters have to come? Why was Emma being so unreasonable? Why couldn't anyone _see_ that he was just fine where he _was_?

"Rusty, I…" Sharon took a shaky breath, and her eyes were bright, and his shoulders hunched defensively because he just _didn't_ want to hear what she had to say. "I need to ask you to do something, and…" she sighed, "…I know it'll be inconvenient, but please consider it anyway."

How could he say anything when she looked at him like that? Her hands tightened nervously on her lap, and for some reason even that made him angry, because it made him feel bad because it _wasn't_. _her_. _fault_. Or maybe it was…if she hadn't offered her apartment and given him all that… stuff, and made him think it was all going to be okay, then it wouldn't feel so awful now that it was all being taken away.

She _should_ have known better.

But he didn't say any of that. Instead he just stared back in gloomy silence.

"It's…" Another false start, and Sharon shook her head tiredly and apologized. She gave him a sad kind of smile. "I got a phone call earlier…"

He clenched his fingers on the edges of the chair, and couldn't stop himself: "So this is it. They're making me go away. After _everything_!"

"Wha – no, _no_, Rusty," she shook her head, her voice hoarse, "this has nothing to do with that. God…" She took a deep breath. "No, I… The phone call was from my brother, Paul. My father…" she closed her eyes briefly, "passed away last night."

Whatever he'd expected, that wasn't even close – her words threw him completely. His eyes widened and his anger melted away so abruptly that it nearly left him breathless.

This wasn't about him at all.

And he had no idea what to do.

"I need to fly up to Minnesota for a few days," Sharon continued in the same forcedly emotionless tone, "and I'd prefer it if you came with me." That she looked almost pleading only added to his growing horror. "I know it's not what you want on your first week of senior year, and it will cause you to miss school and your next chess match, but I'd feel better knowing that –"

"Okay!" he blurted. "Okay, sure, fine! Whatever you want. Sharon –" Again he didn't know what to say. "I really don't mind. We can go whenever. I'll get my homework from my friends. Okay? Really." He shook his head, horrified at the whole situation. "Not a problem. Whatever you… say."

Some of the tension left her shoulders, and she gave him a thankful smile. "Okay. Thank you. I'm sor–"

"No! I mean – it's fine. I'm – I'm sorry." He was holding his hands up almost defensively, and he didn't really know _what_ to do with them. When he opened his mouth to say something else, once more he couldn't think of anything, and he was almost _grateful_ when Sharon wearily asked him to give her a few moments to make some phone calls in private.

* * *

_Now..._

Back when he was a commander, Russell Taylor used to view the office of the Assistant Chief of Police as a haven of sorts, a quiet retreat from which the privileged leader could peacefully observe and process the operations of his divisions, while avoiding the craziness that buzzed constantly on every floor of the building.

About two days into taking his much-coveted promotion, however, he had come to recognize the office for what it really was: the place where the nastiest conflicts, the ones that couldn't be resolved _anywhere_ lower in the hierarchy, came to nest.

Chief Pope had suggestively left a bottle of antacids on the corner of the desk the day he'd moved out, and flippantly advised Taylor not to throw them away. Now, he was glad he hadn't. Because his office at the moment was _certainly_ not quiet and anything _but_ peaceful. It was a damn battlefield.

DDA Rios had both palms down on one side of his desk, and an impatient expression. "Look, I'm very sorry, I _am_," she said for the fourth time. "I'm not trying to be the bad guy here but these two things are completely unconnected! _Of course_ you should go home and be with your family, but Rusty can't leave our jurisdiction."

"He is not a _prisoner_, he is a _witness_." Mirroring the same stance at the other end of his desk, Captain Raydor looked to have reached the limits of her patience.

"A witness under credible threat," Rios countered. "A witness who is a _flight risk_! And you want to take him to _Minnesota_?"

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "I don't _want_ to, DDA Rios," she enunciated.

Sadly the woman's hand wave looked more dismissive than apologetic. "Of course, I'm sorry. I know. But – all the more arguments against this. You wouldn't be able to focus on Rusty and his safety – and you shouldn't _have_ to! I'm sorry," she pre-empted another protest from the Captain, "but this is non-negotiable. It's just completely unacceptable for him to make this trip with you. I'll call the Broades…"

"Absolutely not," Sharon forbade. "Rusty has made it _very_ clear that he does _not wish_ to be placed with them."

"So we'll call it temporary!" Emma looked so thrilled at the sudden insight that Taylor almost cringed. "While you're away. It'll be a great chance to get adjusted to the new surroundings, and then we can transition into –"

"Excuse me," Sharon said icily, "but this is a _teenage_ _boy_ you're talking about," her eyes shot sparks, "not a shelter dog you can just transplant into a new home whenever you think it suits you."

The younger woman crossed her arms in a clearly uncompromising gesture. "Call it what you want, but you can't take him out of California. I'm sorry."

There was a long, tense silence, then the Captain let out a long, slow breath. "He can stay with Lieutenant Flynn while I'm gone," she conceded, "or Lieutenant Provenza. Either of them is more than suitable to protect –"

But Emma just shook her head. "No." She cleared her throat. "Look, I know you can't be objective on this, and I'm doing my best to understand, but this situation has a very simple solution." She lifted her chin. "You should just… fly home, be with your family, and let me worry about Rusty's situation. It's for the best."

While the DDA spoke, Raydor's expression had grown more and more disdainful. "I disagree," she said coldly when the younger woman was done, and in a move that Taylor had been dreading, she turned a silently expecting gaze on him. "Chief–"

"It's not up to Chief Taylor," DDA Rios said plainly.

"It's not up to _you_, either."

"Your temporary guardianship status stipulates that you need permission from the DCFS to take –"

"I know _very_ well what the laws are, DDA Rios," Sharon growled lowly, "I've been enforcing them a lot longer than you've been throwing them around in court...!"

Emma's expression darkened. "Then you know DCFS will never give permission for this. They know Rusty's a special case, and they consult with me, and I'll explain just like I have to you that the best thing to do given your absence is begin to familiarize the boy with the Broades…"

When the older woman couldn't contain a shaky sigh of exasperation, her hand gripping the edge of his desk hard enough to turn her knuckles white, Taylor decided it was best to step in.

"Look, Captain Raydor," he said soothingly, "I have to agree with the DDA Rios here… this is not what you want to be worrying about right now." He tried for his most understanding look. "Please take your week off, and when you're back we can discuss this again…"

But again, Sharon knew all too well, possession was nine tenths of ownership – by the time she'd be back, things would already be too far gone to fix.

Obviously thinking the same thing, Emma nodded encouragingly. "That's right. It's only temporary."

Sharon's soft voice had a menacing note of warning: "I am not a child, DDA Rios," she said slowly. "And that line won't work on Rusty any better than it works on me." As the phone on his desk rang, she turned a pleading look to Taylor. "Please give me a little time to find another… acceptable… solution."

"There _is_ no other –"

"Fine," the Chief immediately agreed, cutting Rios off. "Of course. Let's all think about it until tomorrow morning, and then we can see what the best arrangement is."

Emma pursed her lips, but at least she knew that tomorrow she would hold all the cards just as she did today. Then a thought occurred to her. "If you try to take him away without permission –"

Sharon's eyes flashed in hot anger, but before she could reply…

"DDA Rios!" Taylor's usual honeyed tone had taken on a clearly displeased note. "Captain Raydor has already made clear to you that she knows the law, and I can vouch for the truth of that," he said warningly. "I know you're dedicated to solving this situation, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't unnecessarily insult my people in the process."

Emma wisely backed down. "I didn't mean any offense," she said with a slight nod in the other woman's direction.

Sharon only returned a cold look. "_Excuse_ _me_," she murmured slowly, then dipped her head slightly at Taylor. "Chief." And at his silent nod she turned on her heels and walked out.

* * *

It was barely three-thirty, but it felt as though the day had been a year long.

It took reading the first paragraph of the SIS report three times before Sharon realized she wasn't processing any of it. Her thoughts just kept straying elsewhere, fevered, disorganized and hectic. But she _had_ to get through the report for the 6 o'clock press release, and putting it off didn't fix anything. At the end of the day she'd still have to go home and find a way to restore some sense of order to the escalating turmoil that the last few days had brought about.

She wasn't even sure she could rein it all in anymore.

Her eyes absently flickered to the phone next to her on the counter, its screen blank and quiet.

She hadn't been able to get a hold of her daughter yet. She hadn't even tried her son; he'd once asked her to only call in the evenings unless it was an emergency… and however Sharon felt about it, this wasn't an emergency. It could wait a few hours. She'd call Ricky from home, even though she dreaded giving him the news. How could she tell her children, when her own mind just refused to wrap around it? Her thoughts ricocheted wildly whenever she tried to settle down and really process what had happened.

Probably for the best, because once the numbness faded and the reality of it truly sunk in, the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere in public, let alone at her workplace. So she kept pushing the thoughts back, delaying the inevitable until she could get home and … think about it.

Only there was so much _more_ to think about, too.

Her mind went back to the conversation in Taylor's office, and an involuntary gasp of indignation escaped her lips. That that whole discussion had even had to happen was unbelievable. That DDA Rios had picked _this_ time to stake out her claim… Sharon couldn't have imagined it in a thousand years, and it made her angry, _outraged_, and at the same time it made her desperate.

She knew she wasn't thinking straight, she _tried_ to contain herself from making any bad decisions but the situation really had just about pushed her to the limits of her tolerance; as far as Emma Rios was concerned, reason and common sense were bowing out and all that was left was a deep loathing for the woman.

_You should just… fly home…let me worry about Rusty's situation. It's for the best._

Sharon could feel her blood pressure rising at the mere memory of the patronizing suggestion, and unexpectedly a knot tightened in her throat and tears of frustration gathered abruptly in her eyes. And though she gripped the edges of the SIS report, took a deep breath and forced them back, she knew that it was really getting to her, this whole situation that was just so ridiculous, outrageous to the extreme and she _still_ had to deal with it.

She'd called the DA's office. DCFS. Even Gavin, who had had a few choice words for her for being interrupted mid-consultation. The answer had been the same all around – their hands, and hers, were tied. The DA had given Emma full authority over the case, DCFS was legally bound to consult her regarding her witness, and both institutions were just about out of favors for Sharon, after the concerted efforts they had put in just to help her keep Rusty despite the letters fiasco.

And now if she tried to take him with her anyway, she'd be breaking the rules and handing Emma just the weapon she needed to get her material witness relocated to wherever she wanted.

But there were other solutions. Solutions that didn't involve doing to Rusty what he'd spent days pleading to be spared. She hated to leave him behind, thousands of miles away and in danger, but at the very least she'd try to find a way to do it right. The squad would look after him if she asked, and it wasn't _as_ reassuring as having her eye on him but it was the next best thing. She wasn't throwing in the towel…

_You said I didn't have to! You said I'd have a choice!_

_How is that _fair_!_

_Why is it so much to ask for _nothing_ to happen?!_

Sharon closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. She'd seen Rusty's reaction the first time relocation had been suggested, and she'd seen him for the past few days, and she _knew_ that moving him would do a lot more damage than anyone thought.

He was so angry. So uncertain. So _young_. She _had_ to get that through to Emma, no matter what it took.

Only the woman wasn't listening. And Sharon didn't know what she could do about it.

Worse, as she felt her grip on her emotions slipping more with every passing second, the lines between what was proper and what was right and what was just plain crazy blurring fast, she was increasingly worried about what she _would_ do about it.

She prayed that evening would give her enough time and peace to figure out the correct course of action, because right now she didn't really trust herself to do anything right anymore.

* * *

It was about half an hour later that she finally dropped off the SIS report and her own notes on it, and waved off Taylor's offer to go home and let someone else work on the press statement with (or for) him. His secretary worked nine-to-five, the LAPD PR consultant was eternally swamped, and while her own squad were excellent at their jobs and the top in their field, those jobs did not include dealing with public relations. A press statement written by Lt. Provenza was likely as not to get half the LAPD sued.

So Sharon took a seat across from the Chief and slowly helped compose a brief, coherent statement regarding what had happened to the serial killer that Provenza had rightfully dubbed 'worst houseguest ever'. And even as they thought of a way to phrase it so that the LAPD would come off looking good, she couldn't help but be struck once again by how unlikely Brandon North had been as a serial killer.

He was so young, too. Barely twenty-three, a year younger than her son even. And he'd shot himself in the head while on the phone with her. Because she'd let him say goodbye to his grandmother. And apologize.

She hadn't seen it coming, and she should have. Andy said she'd done everything right, but if that were true their killer, their _twenty-three year old_ killer wouldn't have ended up on the living room floor in a pool of his own blood, and she and Taylor wouldn't be trying to spin that now. It was disgusting.

But it was what it was, and she better than anyone knew the value of presenting a good image to the public. So they completed their three-minute statement, and Taylor read it out loud to her a couple of times, his voice booming with that self-important note he loved to adopt when speaking to the press, and it sounded good enough to convince anyone that the LAPD had done a great job.

Anyone but Brandon North's grandmother, who would be watching the heartrending, sobbing apology of her dead grandson and wondering how things had gotten to where they were.

"You know you don't have to stay until after the press release." Taylor's voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and Sharon looked up to see him standing a few feet away, having lowered his printed speech to give her a thoughtful look. "I don't imagine there will be any problems or questions about the conduct of your division. I'll even try to keep Major Crimes' name out of it altogether. There's no reason to wait around," he repeated. "Go home, Captain."

But she shook her head. "It was our case, Chief, and it's only right to wait until it's been fully wrapped up," she said softly, "and that means dealing with any fallout from the press, as well. And, it's procedure." After the debacle last year, they'd instated stricter rules about the responsibilities of division leaders, which included higher transparency and the responsibility to be available for open discussion following the resolution of a case. In her time with Major Crimes so far, none of their cases had ever _needed_ to be questioned… but Sharon had a feeling this one might hit a more sensitive chord with the public.

"That it is." Taylor conceded her point with a few slow nods. "But feel free to change your mind. And," he added as an afterthought, "don't worry about the Robbery-Homicide case. Provenza can handle it just fine. I'll supervise."

That wasn't nearly as reassuring as the Chief probably thought it would be, but she knew it was a goodwill effort and took it as such.

* * *

Leaning against one of the counters in the break room, Sharon held her coffee mug with both hands, not only to enjoy the warmth it radiated but also to keep it secure despite the slight shaking of her fingers. She closed her eyes and inhaled the strong scent, willing her thoughts and emotions to stop their chaotic whirling and fall back into some semblance of order…

"Sharon?"

She startled enough to send a few drops over the rim, fortunately nothing drastic. But opening her eyes and summoning the energy for human interaction had seemed a herculean effort.

A few feet away, Andy was giving her a sympathetic look. Another time she may have found it embarrassing, or at least slightly uncomfortable, but at the moment she was just too tired to feel anything but a vague sort of gratitude. "How are you holding up?"

Her brow creased slightly, and her shoulders rose in a slight shrug. How, she didn't know, but she _was_ holding up, because there were simply too many things to take care of to do otherwise.

"Shouldn't you go home? I can give you and the kid a ride."

She smiled. "Soon," she sighed, although she didn't know exactly what 'soon' meant in this case. There was still work to wrap up, for one, and she had to wait for the six o'clock press statement… but more importantly, she just wasn't ready yet to go home and…deal with anything. "And we won't need a ride, but thank you."

He didn't argue, settling instead for a few seconds of silence before his eyes softened compassionately again. "I'm sorry about your father."

The words were like a hot knife through her stomach, but she suppressed the slight flinch. She hadn't processed that yet. Hearing Andy say it just felt… alien. Wrong. Like there was some misunderstanding. It left her feeling as stunned as when her brother had first delivered the news earlier…

_Sharon._

_It's dad. _

_Sharon… he died last night. _

Exhaling a slow breath, she nodded. "Thank you."

"You know that if there's anything you need, all you have to do is ask," he said earnestly. "Same goes for everyone."

"I know," Sharon said softly. "I appreciate it." But what she needed, they couldn't give her, although the quiet show of support did warm her up a little.

After a second, he asked with some caution: "How'd it go with Rios?"

Her hands tightened angrily around the mug, shifting it enough to cause some of the hot coffee to slosh onto her skin.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter will be slightly shorter, and it will finally conclude what must have been the worst Monday of Sharon's life. I considered putting it all in this one, but it was simply too much left, and there is still a major (thought not necessarily wise!) decision being made that deserved its own chapter anyway. **

**Thank you all so much for reading! And you know how I feel about your feedback ;).  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter. I said this before, but really the response that this story is getting is absolutely overwhelming, and so encouraging for my first foray into this wonderful fandom, and I'm very grateful :). **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (8)**

Sharon had been absently browsing through some of the case files on her desk, not really seeing the words, when there was a faint knock on the door. As Rusty walked in somewhat hesitantly, she almost cringed at the realization that she hadn't said two words to him ever since the earlier conversation. He looked uneasy now.

"Is everything okay?" The boy grimaced at the question, causing her another pang of worry. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, don't worry. Uh…" His stomach suddenly growled, and Sharon's brow creased regretfully.

"Oh Rusty, I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was getting…" Her eyes flickered to the clock. "As soon as Chief Taylor gives his statement to the press, we can head home… are you hungry now?"

"No. _Yes_." At her vaguely confused expression, he cleared his throat. "I mean, if you want to go get some food, that would be…okay with me. " He gave her a tentative look. "Are _you_ hungry?"

She managed a small smile. "Not very. But Lt. Flynn can take you across the street –"

"That's okay," Rusty hurried to say, "I'm not that hungry anyway. Big lunch."

"It won't be long now," she promised. "We can pick something up on the way home."

He nodded, but didn't say anything else, yet he also didn't leave; instead he stood a little awkwardly halfway between the door and her desk, hands shoved in his pockets, giving her the same wary look. Sharon tilted her head slightly.

"What do you need?" she asked softly, and couldn't understand why he grimaced again. "Rusty, what's on your mind?" A dark suspicion suddenly crossed _her_ mind. "Did DDA Rios say anything –"

"No! No, I didn't even see Emma today. Everything's fine, I swear." Her half-bemused, half-concerned expression made him groan. "Okay," he fidgeted some more and backpedalled a step, "I'm just gonna… go, now, okay? But uh, if you change your mind… and like, want to get some food, or, anything… I'll be… in the conference room. Doing homework. So just... let me know."

And with that, he quickly backed out of the office, closing the door extra carefully before marching straight to the break room, where he found it particularly satisfying to lightly bang his forehead once against a cabinet door while he waited for a hot chocolate.

* * *

"Tough day, kid."

The gruff voice made him jump, and he hit his head for real against the cabinet door handle. "Ow. What?" It took a second to process Provenza's words. "Oh. Er, yeah. I guess." He rubbed the side of his head, uncomfortable, while the older man looked on with a somewhat amused expression.

Suddenly, Rusty got an idea.

"Lieutenant Provenza, can I ask you something?" At the man's curious nod, he continued: "What do I … say… to Sharon? I don't–" he shook his head, shrugged, "I don't know what to tell her. This isn't exactly something they teach at school, you know? Or I guess they kind of do," he amended, "but I'm pretty sure 'god has a plan' is _not_ what Sharon wants to hear right now, and other than that I've got nothing. Or like, less than nothing," he groaned, "I think I just made things worse in there..."

Provenza gave him an understanding look. "Tell her you're sorry."

The boy nodded attentively, but after a few seconds was surprised to see that the Lieutenant wasn't adding anything else. "And…?"

"And… that's it."

"What? But that's not enough!" Rusty was scandalized.

"Nothing's gonna be enough, kid," the older man said simply. "Not for this kind of thing. So just say sorry, and be nice. Don't yell." He raised his hands defensively when the boy looked about to protest. "You asked."

"Right." Somehow, that answer didn't feel particularly helpful.

* * *

Despite Chief Taylor's advice, Sharon had asked for a rundown of the case that Robbery-Homicide had forwarded them, and no one had dared argue. And truthfully, if they were all stuck there until after the press statement, they could understand wanting to at least do something useful. Still, even as they tried for an efficient briefing, they couldn't entirely help the extra note of sympathy in their glances, nor the somewhat overly cautious manner when they addressed her.

For her part, the Captain looked every bit as composed as she had earlier, if a note quieter and more weary-looking. Tiredness creased the corners of her eyes, her hands still shook every so slightly and she kept sneaking worried glances at the cell phone she held, as though expecting a call that was late in coming. Other than those small signs, however, she was giving them her full attention, leaning against Sykes' desk and watching patiently as Lt. Provenza and Det. Sanchez took photos and notes out of the case file and pinned them to the murder board.

"Crime number one: carjacking. Last Monday night, driver was pulled out at gunpoint, then knocked out by two men." Provenza pinned a photo from a traffic cam at the left end of a timeline he had just drawn. "Crime number two…" He pinned another, similar photo. "Thursday night, same thing. And then we have Thursday night, a little later on..." Another photo went up. "Driver badly beaten and left on the side of the road. Crime number four: Saturday night." This time he pulled two photos, and the one from the traffic cam went above the date. "Driver…" He pinned the second photo, clearly a morgue shot, underneath the first. "Beaten and shot."

The sight of the dead body left her more shaken than it normally would have, and Sharon shifted her position slightly to hide the shiver that had just run down her spine. Even so, images came unbidden to her mind, and she had to close her eyes to block out the unwelcome thoughts of what was waiting for _her_ at her parents' home.

"They're escalating," she murmured past the knot in her throat. "Do we know these are all the same carjackers?"

There was a brief silence as the rest of the squad seemed to contemplate whether or not to go on, and it occurred to her that she wasn't doing that good a job hiding her reactions. She shifted again and nodded for them to continue, and finally Flynn spoke:

"Robbery-Homicide compared the descriptions of the first three victims this morning –"

"Only took 'em_ a week_ to see the link between four consecutive, violent armed carjackings," Provenza grumbled.

" –and the descriptions coincide," Flynn finished, "so right now we're assuming it's the same people behind all four."

"And we can assume there will be _more_ carjackings if they keep the same pace." Her voice was stronger, but she couldn't keep the concern out of it.

Unsuspecting citizens being pulled from their cars at gunpoint and beaten, even killed… it was exactly the kind of thing that would incite panic. And panic spurred the media, and the last thing her division needed were _two_ headlines-worthy cases in one week.

The crease between her eyebrows deepened. She thought she'd been right to ask for the case details, but now it was just one more thing to weigh on her mind…

"Press conference's about to start," Tao signaled from his desk, and they were all almost relived as they moved to gather around the small TV that Buzz had rolled into the room for the occasion. There was a brief news clip summarizing the course of the North case, and then Chief Taylor came on, wearing his press face and his best tie, reciting the speech that they had carefully crafted only a couple of hours before.

* * *

It was over in minutes, the statement having come across as clear and persuasive, and Taylor having successfully fielded even the trickier questions from the reporters. Moreover, he had done so, as promised, without mentioning Major Crimes by name. The scene had moved back to the studio and the news anchor was offering the last few vague opinions on the dead serial killer who would probably be out of the audience's mind by the time the weather report rolled around.

Sharon pressed two fingers between her eyebrows in an attempt to stave off the coming headache. It was over. The day had unofficially come to an end, and she had nothing left to do but drive home and… think. Think of how to cope. Think of what to do with Rusty. How to deal with Rios. Think of what to tell her children and how to be there for her mother and a way to get everyone through the week.

Her eyes landed on the newly drawn timeline and its traffic cam pictures, and the sinister picture of the murdered driver, the sight of which again made her blood run cold. Another thing to think about.

She unwillingly paused in her tracks. "What do the stolen cars have in common?"

Again that hesitant silence, and she could see Flynn and Provenza exchange one of their glances – but she held up a finger to acknowledge their concern and indicated that she only had a few questions left, and they resigned themselves to her wishes.

"None of them were older than three years," Det. Sanchez finally replied, "and they were all in pretty good condition, but other than that…" He shrugged. "We have three Sedans and one SUV, different brands, different colors, one's manual… different dealers, one is registered out of state… no connection that we can see. It looks like they're just picking the cars at random."

She grimaced. Random wasn't good. It only made cases harder, and the chance for panic higher.

"We're looking into the owners, see if they're connected in some way. Also increased patrols along the roads most likely to be targeted. Checking around known chop shops and into anyone involved in grand theft who may have recently been released from prison." Flynn gave her a serious look. "We've got this, Captain. Don't worry."

And that was his way of saying that they were ready to take over for her, and she knew that letting go was the right thing to do. With a sigh, she nodded in acknowledgment, and surveyed all of them with a grateful look. "Thank you." And she turned and headed toward her office, feeling drained, cold and ready for the day to end… even though she knew that going home wouldn't really help, because the very same crises would still be waiting for her when she walked through her front door.

* * *

In her office, she took the time to make yet another phone call to her daughter, and once again there was no answer. Not unusual, since Katie worked during the day and had the habit of leaving her phone abandoned in whatever corner, or maybe in silent mode at the bottom of her purse. Still, Sharon so badly wanted her to pick up… and at the same time dreaded the moment she would.

She mechanically tidied up the files and assorted notes on her desk, a feeble last attempt to leave at least _some_thing in order before she took the week off. She hated to leave mid-case, and she absolutely dreaded to leave Rusty behind, not only because of the ever-present threats but also because no matter how much she thought about it, there was no telling what Emma Rios would do in her absence.

_This is not what you want to be worrying about right now…_ Chief Taylor's words rang strangely ironic in her memory. _Of course_ that wasn't what she wanted to be worrying about. Now _or_ later. She was terrified of coming back to find that Rusty had been forcefully relocated. It wouldn't be done gently, either, because he _would_ _not_ _cooperate_. He could run away, right into the path of whatever madman sent those letters, or back on the streets, or somewhere _worse_ and who knew…

Sharon lowered her face in her hands for a moment, and with a deep calming breath, had to remind herself that none of those scenarios had actually happened. Her heart was racing, her anxiety having gotten away from her at the mere thought of what could be in store. But no. A solution was out there. All she needed was a little quiet time to think about it.

It was an odd, possibly misguided sort of confidence, but after the fight in Chief Taylor's office she had walked out and _sworn_ to herself that Emma Rios would not get her way with Rusty, not while Sharon had _anything_ to say about it – and the woman's precious case be damned. If she couldn't figure out a way to win it without devastating the boy's life, then she didn't deserve to win it at all.

It wasn't until she noticed that she'd been scowling and gripping one of her files, its corners now crumpled and ragged in her palm, that Sharon once again realized just _how much_ her emotions were getting the better of her. Her heart was racing again, and she felt feverish, her eyes too hot behind her eyelids, her throat too dry.

It really was time to go home.

She stood up a little shakily and straightened one last pile of files on the desk. In the squad room, the rest of her team were still discussing the case. A glance into the conference room revealed Rusty's backpack, but not the boy himself. Checking the clock, Sharon grimaced; it was now almost seven, and she'd promised dinner. He was probably in the break room getting a snack.

She went to look for him and was halfway down the corridor when she heard his voice.

* * *

"_What_?!"

The distressed question made her pick up her pace abruptly, and she found herself in the break room without even fully processing how she'd gotten there. Blood rose to her face at the sight of the boy and the DDA facing each other across the lunch table.

Rusty turned to her with a panicked expression when she entered. "Sharon –" But then he paused, opened his mouth as though to say something else and changed his mind, looking down and crossing his arms silently instead.

Anger flashed through her, and it must have shown on her face because Emma took a step back and had the grace to look chagrined. "Look, I was _just_–"

"_DDA Rios_," Sharon cut her off in an irate growl, then with a monumental effort reined in her outrage. "I don't know what you're still doing here, but it's _very_ late, and you cannot _possibly_ have _anything_ pressing to discuss with Rusty at this hour."

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, and held up the thin folder she was holding. "I only _suggested_ –"

"I can imagine." Sharon's eyes narrowed. "If you have anything further to communicate, I'd appreciate it if you did it in my presence."

The younger woman rolled her eyes. "Fine – good, because I actually came back to talk –"

"_Later_."

Emma looked even more exasperated, but for whatever reason she didn't press the issue, settling instead for a prolonged sigh. She held her hands up in resignation. "Okay, fine. As you wish." And she backed out of the break room, the rapid click of her heels echoing down the corridor.

It took a moment to get her expression back under control, but when she did Sharon turned back to face Rusty. He was still standing in the same spot, silent, fixing her with a wide-eyed gaze, and she had no idea _what_ DDA Rios had gotten to tell him, but the fact that the woman had tried to go behind her back to suggest _anything_ to Rusty was enough to spark her anger anew.

With a sigh, she tried to find something innocuous to say. "Did you finish your homework for tomorrow?"

"No."

For some reason the frank reply almost made her laugh. It was fair enough, really. She nodded to the door. "Why don't you get your things, and we'll head home and stop to pick up some food on the way. I'm sorry it took so long."

"It's fine," he murmured, and quietly preceded her out the door and back toward the squad room.

* * *

It shouldn't have surprised her really, but it did. Two minutes after she'd returned to her office to get her things, there was a light knock on her open door, and Sharon turned around to find Chief Taylor wearing a grim expression. She distantly noticed that he still hadn't changed his press-conference tie.

"Chief…" Her breath caught when she noticed the woman behind him, and she couldn't stop herself from taking a step back. "DDA Rios."

The two stepped into the office and Sharon had the distinct feeling of being ambushed. Her heart started pounding loudly in her ears.

"I'm sorry to bother you again, Captain," Emma started, not sounding all that sorry at all. "But like I tried to say earlier, I actually came back to talk to _you. _It'll just be a minute, I was hoping to catch you before you left for the night..."

An almost desperate gaze to the squad room showed everyone with their eyes glued to the scene. But Sharon knew that they couldn't do anything for her right now. Then she noticed the stack of papers in Emma's hand, and her apprehension melted into anger again.

"Are you serious? We agreed I had until tomorrow." Her accusing gaze turned to Taylor, who looked away uncomfortably.

"It's almost seven o'clock, and there's just no reason to wait any extra time – especially if you have to leave tomorrow," DDA Rios argued. "I don't want _this_ to be what you're worried about." She held up the papers. "If you can just sign these forms, giving your approval as temporary guardian for Rusty to be placed with the Broades for the next week…"

"I am _not_. Signing. Anything."

Taylor sighed. "Captain Raydor –"

"With all due respect, Chief, I am still working on a compromise."

"Fine," Emma acknowledged patiently, "and if we find another solution by tomorrow, then I just won't file these. It's too late to do it tonight anyway but _this way_, if we_ can't_ find another option," she defended, "it will all be taken care of and you can focus on more important problems."

Sharon stared at her in dazed silence. More important problems. _Every_ problem she had right now was important – though not to DDA Rios, obviously. Her gaze unwillingly flickered to Rusty, who was standing with the rest of the squad in the main room, the same look of wariness on his face that hadn't faded in three days. Her lips pressed together ever so slightly.

She did _not_ like being ambushed, and she did _not_ like backed into corners.

Oblivious to the Captain's reactions, Emma took another step, set the papers on the desk and slid them over. "If you read the terms, you'll see it's _all temporary_," she assured, "nothing in here about permanently resettling the minor…so please, just _consider_ it, _please_."

That same second, Sharon's phone went off. Silently she glanced at the screen, still reeling from the shock of what was happening.

"Here." DDA Rios pulled out a pen. "This it all pre-approved. All it takes is your signature, mine and the DCFS stamp which is already on it." She gave Sharon her most honest look. "Please don't think I'm doing this to force your hand, it's just the best way for everyone involved, and the way to get this whole mess sorted out…" She grabbed the pen and began to sign. "It's –"

Sharon gently covered Emma's writing hand with hers. "That won't be necessary."

The phone was still vibrating on the table.

"Captain – "

"Rusty is staying with me." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Emma groaned. "He has to stay _somewhere_ while you're gone, and getting familiarized with the Broades is –"

"That won't be necessary," Sharon repeated in the same tone, still looking somewhat dazed.

"Okay, yes it _will_ be necessary," Rios argued, at the end of her patience, "because we can't just leave him unsupervised while you're halfway across the country!"

And Sharon lifted her chin, met the younger woman's eyes with the same almost otherworldly calm, and said in a low but firm voice: "I'm not going anywhere." Then she reached for the purse on her chair, took the now-silent phone and dropped it inside . "Excuse me."

With that, she turned and walked out of her own office, leaving the two of them stupefied. She made her way across the murder room as fast as she could, shaking her head curtly when Flynn tried to take a step toward her, and when she passed Rusty waiting near the door, she held out a hand, breathed, "Let's go," and ushered the boy out in front of her without so much as a look back.

* * *

**A/N: Some time within the next chapter or two, we might be getting an Emma POV, because I really am not trying to paint her as the most villainous villain of all... this situation just got away from her because she didn't realize when (and whom) to stop pushing.  
**

**Thank you so much for reading and sticking with this story! Next chapter we'll get the first glimpse of *one* of Sharon's kids. As always your feedback is much loved and appreciated... and also ONE MORE WEEK OMG. **

**Ahem. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Didn't get to update yesterday, but today's chapter is twice as long as usual so I say that in the grand scheme of the universe it clearly balances out ;).  
**

**Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing - and a quick shout-out to the guest reviewers, since I can never actually reply individually to you guys! I'm very grateful for all your positive feedback, and very happy you're enjoying the story. Despite my heaping endless misery upon our most beloved characters. **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (9)**

Emma Rios was _not_ having a good day.

Her first court appearance of the day had involved a defense lawyer who'd looked at her like she was the next meal, and a judge who thought himself far wittier than he actually was. Then she'd found an error in one of her case files and the paralegal who'd prepared it had been nowhere to be found, forcing her to waste an hour redoing his research. After which, one of the witnesses in one of her minor cases had _called_ her. As the witness was an old lady with nothing better to do but waste time on the phone describing fabric patterns on the alleged criminal's jacket, the phone call was irritating – but above that it was _alarming_ because Emma certainly didn't give her number away to random people she used in her cases! She had no idea who might've inadvertently distributed her phone information, but she planned to find out and skin them alive.

To top it all off, she'd caught a glimpse of Stroh's lawyer on the halls of the DA's office, and he'd seemed particularly pleased, which of course made _her_ particularly suspicious.

The man had taken to strolling around the DA's office, city hall, the courthouse and anywhere else where he might run into his client's many former buddies and remind them just what a fun ,upstanding guy Phillip Stroh really was. Emma hated that. It was bad enough that Stroh had golfed with half the judges on the roster and most of the staff at the mayor's office. She didn't need his lawyer capitalizing on that. So this time, she'd flagged down the man and warned him that if he didn't quit loitering, she'd start personally distributing murder scene pictures around the same offices and corridors, so the people he was targeting would get a glimpse of what Stroh was _really_ like.

His entertained chuckle hadn't reassured her, but at least he'd gone away. That alone _should've_ made her day better… but by noon, things had only gotten worse.

The first hint of real trouble was getting a _driving_ _ticket_, for god's sake, for some completely inane reason, and not even waving her DA's office credentials had gotten her out of it, which was a first. And she'd literally only driven a five-minute stretch from the mayor's office back to her office – further testament to the bad luck that seemed determined to plague her.

Then she went back to her desk to find that she'd somehow been assigned to represent the state in _four_ upcoming parole hearings, none of which had been her cases and all of which seem to involve the greasiest kinds of criminals. She'd asked one of the legal secretaries about it, and the woman had mumbled something incomprehensible and hurried away.

It wasn't until Emma began to notice the meaningful looks and half-finished comments that it first occurred to her that there might be more to her bad day than just the planets misaligning, and that perhaps her many woes that day had a common source.

With glum certainty, she suddenly knew exactly what, or rather _who_, that source was.

* * *

_The previous night..._

They literally hadn't exchanged a single word on the whole car ride home. He'd made an attempt to ask something on the way down to the garage, and she'd said 'not now' briefly and he'd determinedly kept his mouth shut from then on, even though he had so many burning questions that his insides felt ready to burst.

They hadn't ever stopped for food, although at the apartment Sharon had seemed to remember that and indicated him to order take-out, and even then she'd used as few words as possible and that awful sad voice, and he couldn't even _think_ about asking anything, even though he was desperate to know.

It wasn't until later, in his room, that Rusty heard Sharon's voice in the bedroom and even though he tried, he _did_, he couldn't help but overhear – and truly he couldn't help but listen.

" –yes, I know. It's okay, I'm glad you called back…" She trailed off for a second, sighed. "No, honey…" For one ridiculous moment it sounded almost as though she were talking to him, until she said: "It's grandpa… he passed away last night."

She sounded so tired.

_Nothing's gonna be enough, kid. Not for this kind of thing. _

"I know, sweetheart." Sharon made a comforting sound that caused something in his chest to tighten. "No, it's not… Me too." For a little while there was silence on her end, broken only by the occasional soothing, indistinct murmurs. It didn't seem fair to him somehow, that it was Sharon comforting her kids on this, and not the other way around… but then again what did he know of how these things worked?

"Oh, honey… thank you, I'm…" Again that brief sigh. "…fine. I know. Thank you. No, I haven't had a chance to call him yet… no, you don't have t –" This time, Sharon's voice held a note of gratitude. "Thank you, yes, it _would_ help…."

Clearly whoever was on the other end of the line was doing _something_ right; Rusty suppressed the pang of disappointment at the thought that they'd managed to find something to help in the span of a two-minute conversation, while he'd been unable to do the same after thinking on it for hours. It felt _wrong_ to feel that way, though. Angry at himself, he abruptly got up from the bed to close his bedroom door and block out the rest of Sharon's private conversation.

And then he heard it.

"Your uncle Paul hadn't made the final arrangements, but probably Thursday… yes, he called her, she's flying over tomorrow…" Sharon even let out a small chuckle. "No, I think Tokyo this time…" But her faint amusement ended abruptly with whatever her son or daughter said next, and when she spoke again she sounded heartbroken. "Oh, honey… I… I _can't_." Her voice broke into a stifled sob on the last words, and an icy cold rippled through Rusty's stomach, and his fists clenched instinctively.

* * *

Tuesday had dawned dry, overcast and ominously silent, and it brought no cure to her troubles but promised a good deal more of the same. After her fourth time waking up within an hour of barely falling asleep, Sharon had given up entirely, and watched the sun rise and had her morning coffee an hour earlier than usual and twice as strong. She'd reset the machine for Rusty and gone through the rest of her morning routine slowly, deliberately, grasping at the familiarity of it as a way to ground her until the world stopped trying to spin out of control.

Her mind circled around the same fevered thoughts that had tormented her the night before, and with just as little benefit.

She still couldn't believe or even fully understand what was happening .

All her grief, her anger, her _desperation_ were dulled underneath an all-enveloping feeling of bewilderment.

That the situation had degenerated to such depths was unreal. Even after long hours of trying to wrap her mind around it, Sharon still couldn't grasp just _how_ things had gotten that far, and so she'd stopped even trying and was simply taking it all as it was, and she only struggled to keep her head above the water.

She'd taken some Advil for the mild headache that threatened to worsen and spent a little extra time doing her make-up, because sleepless nights and the kind of days she'd had certainly left very visible traces at her age. And when Rusty had joined her in the living room a little before seven, she'd made a minute of effortful small talk before retreating to a corner of the couch with her second coffee cup, while he rushed his way through a cereal bowl.

"…Sharon?"

Startled, she looked up to see Rusty standing in front of her, holding out a tangerine; she hadn't even noticed when he'd finished his breakfast and walked over.

"I know, no food on the couch, but just so you know this doesn't leave crumbs so technically it's not breaking your weird rule…"

She'd opened her mouth to politely wave off the proffered fruit when she noticed he'd actually peeled it for her, too. The refusal died on her lips and she took the tangerine from him with a quiet thanks, breaking off a small piece and eating it, although each swallow took a worrying amount of effort. She did say no to his offer of another.

"Are you all ready for school?" While he hurried to his room to grab his backpack, she carried her coffee mug to the sink and had a glass of cold water that didn't do much for her energy levels. "Don't forget your English homework," she murmured automatically when he returned, and Rusty grimaced and grumbled that she said that every week, and for a brief moment everything seemed normal.

Only for a moment, and then thoughts of the day ahead caught up with her, and a curtain of silent anxiety fell across his face, and they were right back into the maddening whirlwind of uncertainty that had swept them both up and simply refused to let go.

* * *

They didn't talk much in the car, but when she pulled by the school gate and the boy reached to open his door, Sharon put a hand on his arm. "Rusty."

He turned an uneasy gaze on her, and the scary air of dazed aloofness that had shrouded her ever since the previous night had somehow dissipated when she met his eyes, a crease of concentration between her eyebrows.

"You'll need this," she reminded him, and from her purse she pulled out the folded blue teacher's note. "Give it to Sister Margaret – but Rusty," the serious crease deepened, "keep your phone on you. Don't use it unless you have to, but if for _any reason_ you need to reach me…" She sighed. "Just keep it handy, honey, okay?"

"Okay."

She smiled. "Okay."

"And Sharon?" As her eyebrows arched expectantly, he cleared his throat. "Uh – I'll see you after school."

"Have a good day in class," she wished him, and then they parted ways, and soon after passing through the gate he thought he could hear the sound of her car pulling out and driving away.

* * *

Lt. Andy Flynn was never the earliest one to show up to work in the morning: that was usually Tao, who sometimes dropped off his kid at school and drove straight over, or Sykes, the class overachiever. He and Provenza, on the other hand, rushed over only when there was a dead body, and otherwise took their sweet time in the mornings.

Today, however, he'd headed in earlier than usual on a hunch, and when he walked in just after eight-thirty a.m. to find the Captain in the squad room, leaning against Provenza's desk as she surveyed the case details on murder board, he couldn't say he was entirely surprised.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and he felt a grimace of consternation flash involuntarily across his face. "Sharon –" But she held up a hand to stop him.

It didn't feel right, though, dropping it. The squad had pieced together what had happened the previous night, and if they'd been right, it wasn't exactly the kind of thing you could just work around.

Yet neither could he _force_ a conversation on her when she plainly said, 'keep out'.

"Is there anything we can do?" he asked finally, as a compromise of sorts.

"Not at the moment," came her calm reply. "Did you find out anything else last night about a possible connection between the owners of the stolen cars?"

Flynn sighed. "Nothing so far," he admitted after a pause. "They didn't seem to know each other and there's nothing obvious linking them. Mike's looking into their credit histories to see if they had any overlapping interests or activities."

"What about known felons with a history of grand theft or armed robberies with a similar MO? Is there anyone already in the system who could be involved in this?"

They'd already discussed that with her last night, not that he blamed her for not keeping it all straight. "We've got a list of possible involvements, Sanchez and Sykes will run through it today." He could see that she was about to ask another question, and he just couldn't _quite_ drop the issue yet. "Captain –"

The ringtone of his phone interrupted him, and he couldn't suppress a twice of annoyance. Talk about bad timing. Seeing Provenza's name on the screen only made it worse, as there weren't a lot of reasons for his partner to be calling this early in the morning. "Flynn." He listened for a moment, his eyes automatically fixing the Captain only to find her paying more attention that he would've liked. "Uh huh. Alright. Yeah. Uh huh. Okay."

He kept his replies as nondescript as possible and hoped Provenza's booming voice wasn't carrying all the way to her, and _cursed_ himself for having come in early, because if only he'd waited ten more minutes he could've taken this call in private and kept her out of it.

Not that it would've made a difference; as soon as he hung up, the Captain gave him a few moments to come clean on his own, then with a faint arch of her eyebrows asked outright: "There's been another carjacking?"

There was a reason one didn't even try to hide things around the leader of an elite investigative division.

"Side road off Garfield. Driver left dead at the scene."

She picked up her purse from a nearby chair, and nodded. "Let's go." And he didn't even try to argue, because what would have been the point?

* * *

Provenza's expression when they got out of the car at the crime scene would have been almost comical, if not for the bleakness of the situation in general. The older man barely spared a perplexed greeting for Raydor before tearing into his partner: "You brought her _with_ you?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "You think I had a _choice_?"

"Ever heard of 'just say no'?"

"Yeah, when you say it to your boss and superior officer it goes over real well."

Lt. Tao broke off from the crowd of police officers and crime scene technicians to walk up to them. "We've got two tire track impressions, we're thinking one might be from the car the hijackers used to get here. We should be able to get at least a brand off that, maybe more." Having gotten close enough, he glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Did I just see Captain Raydor over there?"

"You can thank Flynn for that," grumbled Provenza.

His partner rolled his eyes again, and looked worriedly toward the Captain. She stood a few yards away from the dead body, studying the surroundings while a slightly-uncomfortable-looking Sanchez seemed to bring her up to speed. She was nodding at his words, but there was still a distinct air of detachment about her, and it was plain from her deliberate reactions and great economy of movements that she was fatigued.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

It was only the start of third period, but Rusty already felt that the day had been endless, and not just because of the back-to-back algebra classes that had left his entire _brain_ feeling like a 'not-solvable system of linear equations'.

He couldn't stop thinking about the previous day, particularly the end of it. The scene between Sharon, Emma and Chief Taylor. The phone call he'd overheard at the apartment. He _thought_ he understood what all that had meant, but he just couldn't believe it because it made no sense! Who _did_ that kind of thing? And Sharon hadn't said anything, and he hadn't brought himself to ask and…

Sister Margaret was talking about the structure and properties of a cohesive written argument, and he forced himself to take a couple of notes before his mind drifted again. Clarity. That was a necessary trait of a good argument – and something that was completely lacking in his life right now. He was so fed up with living under constant uncertainty ever since Emma and the letters. And now the whole thing was muddling Sharon's life as well.

_Oh, honey… I _can't_._

Accessibility. Well Rusty didn't know _what_ the situation was, but it sure wasn't accessible, at least not to him – he had a hard time wrapping his mind around most of what had been happening lately. And no one was doing a good job explaining any of it. Rules changed at the drop of a hat, and he got punished for things he didn't do and it was just _impossible_ to predict what would happen next. On that note, _consistency_: another desirable trait which the last few days had successfully obliterated.

Maybe Sister Margaret should give this lecture to Emma and the DA and DCFS and whoever else was in charge of his situation lately, because they sure as hell weren't getting anything right.

_No, no honey I'm not sick. I'm fine. I just… there's… I can't really talk about it right now. I'm sorry… _

He had no idea what to think. Or do. This wasn't something he _wanted_. If Sharon had asked, he'd have told her so, but she hadn't asked and now something _awful_ was happening, though he wasn't entirely sure what or how it had come to pass.

What had Sharon's kids had to say? What would _he_ have said, if he'd been in their place? What would _his_ mom have done? His jaw clenched involuntarily at the thought. Why was everything so unfair? All these things that should have been so simple, so obvious… parents being with their kids, _wanting_ to be with their kids, kids being with their parents, families pulling together… it was all so obviously right and best and proper and it _still_ couldn't happen the way it was supposed to. That was just stupid.

It wasn't _supposed_ to be this complicated. For him, for anyone, for _Sharon_, who'd had it all so well put-together and was now forced to deal with all these… _things_…

He started to feel his eyes burning and had to focus on taking notes again. He'd talk to Sharon when they got home later, try to figure out exactly what the situation was and how he could fix it. She'd always said that thinking of a solution was better than dwelling on the problem.

Sister Margaret passed out the written assignments for next week, and Rusty took a copy and let his gaze wonder in vague curiosity over the vocabulary exercises and short answers, until his eyes landed on the free-form essay prompt. _Family_. He couldn't hold back a groan.

Today was really just that kind of day.

* * *

The constant walking on eggshells was beginning to wear on her.

Sharon realized that she'd inadvertently made things awkward for her team, too, and she was grateful that they were taking it more or less in stride and not asking too many questions – but their undercurrent of discomfiture was getting to her. The subtle pauses, the looks, the sympathy and the over-accommodating – she _knew_ they all came from a good place, but it was necessary to keep repeating that to herself because after a few hours it had all really started to get on her nerves.

She was perfectly aware of what was going on, and whether they believed it or not she had slowly come into last night's decision, and accepted it as her own and was learning to live with it. The last thing she wanted was to feel as though everyone else around was still doubting it, and they were all just humoring her. She did _not_ want to feel _humored_. Good intentions or not.

" – and the bullets in today's and Thursday's victim don't match the same gun, but they both come from a .45 caliber, which is what the first driver says he was threatened with." Tao added that to the murder board.

"Lucky the guy knew his weapons," commented Provenza. "If only he'd been that good at giving us physical descriptions."

"So _both_ carjackers are armed," Sharon murmured thoughtfully. "It's a long shot, but let's run the weapons through our database and see if they were used in any previous crimes. Lieutenant, did you have a chance to look into the insurance companies of the stolen cars? Or the lists of recent maintenance and repair work?"

Again she was slightly irritated to see the cautious way they glanced at her, and the almost imperceptible pause before Lt. Tao made his reply. She knew they didn't _mean_ it as second-guessing or doubting her choices, but it felt like a judgment anyway. And if _they_ couldn't accept the situation and move on, how could _she_ even begin to do it?

Her daughter certainly hadn't accepted it.

_What?! Are you okay? Mom, you're not sick or anything, right?_

_What kind of situation could _possibly_ be more important that this…Mom, what is it? What's happening? Mom?_

Sharon hadn't known how to explain any of it, because at the time of the phone call her _own_ mind hadn't made sense of any of it, and all she could feel had been a profound disorientation at the things that were happening around her. _To_ her.

She'd been grateful to her daughter for dropping the issue for the night, but she knew she'd have to confront it again eventually. Call her mother again. And tell the rest of the family too. She just… wasn't ready for that, not yet. Probably not ever.

Her heart constricted with sudden anguish, and she absently pressed a hand across her chest in an attempt to fight back the overwhelming feeling. But she never managed to keep it at bay for long. And the day seemed to stretch endlessly ahead…

* * *

"Five carjackings, three assaults, two _murders_!" Chief Taylor was clearly not having the best day. "And we don't have _any_ leads?"

Provenza looked ready to reply, but Sharon wasn't about to watch her division be lectured and then let someone else draw the fire. She stepped up before any of her Lieutenants could say anything: "Chief, we got this case yesterday evening," she reminded Taylor. "It's been less than twenty four hours –"

"And in less than _another_ twenty-four hours, we could have a _sixth_ carjacking and another murder," their boss growled. "I need something _before_ that happens."

"We'll go shake the evidence tree," Provenza deadpanned, earning himself a glare from Taylor.

"We've found similar tire tracks at two of the crime scenes," the Captain offered, "and we're looking for the car that left them. We're cross-referencing the auto database with the descriptions of the first two victims…"

"In other words, we're doing our jobs," the older lieutenant put in again, in his sweetest voice, "although the added incentive of your breath down our necks _always_ helps, Chief."

Sharon's phone started vibrating, and with a pang she read her brother's name. She hadn't told him anything yet… hadn't told anyone anything, most of all because she _still_ didn't know what to say. Belatedly it occurred to her that her brother might have been counting on her to come help, because even though he lived near their parents he still couldn't be everywhere at once, and make arrangements and look after their mother and deal with his own loss…

"Captain!"

She looked up abruptly to realize Taylor had been addressing her. The man just gave her a long look, his anger seemingly abated.

"I was suggesting," he repeated for her benefit, "the idea of forming a larger task force to help Major Crimes with this case. Robbery-Homicide has volunteered their resources, and with the short time intervals between these carjackings, we need the extra manpower."

Her eyes instinctively flickered to Provenza, as though to ask for his opinion, and the older man just shrugged. He wasn't renowned for playing well with others, but if that's what it took, it had been known to happen. "I think that's a good idea, Chief," she acknowledged. Then before she could change her mind, she turned to Provenza: "Lieutenant. Would you please contact Robbery-Homicide and select the detectives to assist us on this case?"

He arched his eyebrows a little doubtfully as if to say, 'you already asked me to take point on this yesterday, and yet here you are today', but out loud he only quipped, "It will be my pleasure."

And Sharon put her phone away with a sigh, and took the first opportunity to make herself another coffee, although this time she went for decaf, and about three times the usual amount of sugar. She had a feeling she was going to need it...

* * *

After almost an entire day of being treated like a leper by half the people she worked with, Emma had had just about enough, and marched over to the LAPD station to confront the source of all her troubles and put an end to the rapidly growing nightmare!

She'd gritted her teeth through the dark glares and pointed silences, and finally gotten to Chief Taylor and _demanded_ a resolution because really this was just insane! She hadn't _done_ anything, other than maybe trying to do her job _despite_ Sharon Raydor's blatant inability to do the same – and now she was getting a completely disproportionate reaction just because the damn woman had decided to have some sort of obstinate meltdown!

Emma could feel her cheeks flushing as she fixed the damn woman in question with an indignant, exasperated look, though all she got in return was that annoyingly reserved bearing that did absolutely nothing to mask a good amount of loathing.

Well good, because the loathing was more than mutual at this point, and if Emma had had her way, Captain Sharon Raydor would've been reassigned to Tampa! Or maybe the moon.

Didn't these people _understand_ the kind of professionalism required in their jobs? They weren't there to play _nice_, for god's sake, they were there to take _criminals_ off the streets, and those criminals weren't exactly going quietly! All it took was one slip, one _loophole_ and they got off free, and it was _her_ job to prevent that – but she'd certainly never expected a squad full of supposedly excellent police officers to be trying _that_ hard to mess it up!

And now somehow the situation had gotten out of control, and the things that were being said and done just _defied_ common sense, and somehow she was being pulled into this absurd, unprofessional, histrionic _drama, _and it was all just…

" –ridiculous!"

"DDA Rios."Taylor was giving her a displeased look, but he turned a much kinder one – the hypocrisy! – on the other woman. "Captain Raydor–"

"I'd really rather not discuss this any more than necessary, Chief," the Captain pre-empted in the soft tone that Emma could hardly believe she'd once mistaken for _actual_ softness. "I understand it's a sensitive situation. Let's just leave it at that."

Emma couldn't believe what was happening. "This is why they shouldn't have allowed him to stay with you in the first place!"

And of course the woman _would_ pointedly ignore her, because no one had ever gotten icy snubbing down to an art as well as Sharon Raydor . "If there's nothing else…"

The Chief didn't know what to say; his eyes flickered to Emma for a moment, and finally he sighed. "No, there's nothing else… you're dismissed, Captain."

And _unbelievably_, Raydor turned on her heels and walked out of the office, having virtually gotten Chief Taylor's blessing on her insane scheme! How that could possibly happen, Emma didn't even begin to comprehend:

"You can't do that!"

And why on Earth was the man looking irritated with _her_?

"I can't force Captain Raydor to take time off if she doesn't want it."

"Obviously she _needs_ time off! Aren't there rules about mandatory leave if the circumstances require it? Clearly she can't do her job here –"

"DDA Rios," Taylor explained patiently. "Even if I were inclined to place the Captain on forced leave, which _I'm not_, I can't run her out of town. She'd just stay home, _with_ the boy, and you'd be in exactly the same position as you are now."

Emma pressed her fingers to both temples in an attempt to suppress her exasperation. "She's intentionally trying to paint me as a villain‼"

And Taylor just sighed: "No, I think you've accomplished that just fine by yourself. Now, if there's nothing else…" he nodded meaningfully toward the door, "I have a meeting with the mayor in two hours and I need to prepare for it."

* * *

For one moment after leaving Taylor's office, Emma continued to hope that things would get better and she would actually get around to doing _her job_, that maybe the whole spectacle would die down on its own and everyone at Major Crimes would remember that _their_ job was to put criminals away, not waste time getting overinvolved and melodramatic about things that shouldn't have been their business anyway.

To be on the safe side, she decided to approach the youngest detective – Sykes? – with her work-related question; the woman did on occasion seem a kindred spirit of sorts.

Det. Sykes looked up at hearing her approach, and in a perfectly clear voice, said: "You. Are dirt."

Or maybe today was just beyond salvaging.

* * *

Between her own turmoil, the difficult case, the draining scene in Taylor's office and her off-kilter interactions with her team, the long day had left Sharon feeling as though she'd run a marathon. She'd spent the last two hours on her feet, pacing the murder room or at most leaning against a desk, because she wasn't sure that if she sat down, she'd be able to get up again. The very thought of food still made her throat constrict, and no amount of overly sweetened coffee was cutting it anymore.

So for the sake of preserving what little energy she still had left, she'd really been hoping to avoid further confrontations of any kind. But the fates did not see fit to grant her wishes, because just as she was about to leave she ran into DDA Rios again in front of the elevator, and when their eyes met, they both twitched as though considering whether an undignified one-eighty might not have been worth it at this point.

Worse, Rusty joined her seconds afterwards, having retrieved some forgotten book and ready to go home, and he fairly skidded to a halt at the sight of the DDA. He gave her an unsure look, and Sharon tried for her most reassuring expression.

At least they were taking the elevator in opposite directions, because Sharon wasn't so sure what might have happened if she'd been forced to share a small confined space with Emma Rios at the present moment.

The younger woman clenched her jaw, arms crossed tightly, her look decidedly unhappy. "I'm not going to change my mind. What you want is _wrong_! It's almost illegal, and it's definitely not in the best interest of this case!"

Sharon returned a cold gaze. It was all she could do.

"I know what you're trying to do," Rios railed. "You're trying to guilt-trip me into relenting, but I'm not going to. I'm sorry about your loss," (Sharon's lips compressed imperceptibly) "I'm sorry that you're taking it so hard, I'm _sorry_ that this is complicating your life! But you're wrong and I'm not going to fold!"

It was a blessing when the elevator doors finally opened and she waited for Rusty to step in first, then followed him. "Excuse me."

Emma looked exasperated. "If you take the boy out of this state, I will have you prosecuted for kidnapping a minor!" But the doors just closed right back between them, and all the younger woman had left to do was press both hands to her face with a loud groan.

For her part, Sharon let Rusty drive them home.

* * *

Later that evening, she'd finished a low-volume, tearful phone call to her brother, and was utterly failing in her efforts to dial down the self-recriminations. Sleep wasn't looking to be a likely option, and rather than silently torment herself between the four walls of her room, Sharon decided to make an effort to spend some time in the living room, where at least she'd be available if Rusty wanted to talk.

Still she hadn't expected, ten minutes after she'd tiredly settled herself in her usual corner on the couch, that the boy would rush out of his room and suddenly declare: "Look, if this is the only way… I'll go stay with those Broods – _Broades_. It's just for a few days, right? How bad can it be…?"

He looked so serious. She tilted her head, her gaze tender. "You're not going anywhere."

"I want to go! Okay?" He threw his hands in the air. "Just… call Emma and tell her to do her thing. I want to see their house and their... vegan…dog, or whatever. Sounds like fun."

Sharon patted the couch pillow next to her. "Come here honey."

But Rusty plowed determinedly on. "No! I'm serious, alright? This is clearly not working out! I'm sick of it, Sharon!" He tried to ignore the painful way her small smile faded and her brow creased. "It's just not worth it, okay?"

"Rusty..."

"At least if I go to the Broades I'll know she won't come after me again!" Gritting his teeth, he scowled. "I want to just stay in one place, okay? I don't care where! Call Emma! Tell her to bring you her paperwork! I'll go tonight! I'll–"

Abruptly Sharon choked back a sob, tears spilling unbidden from her eyes.

She turned her head away. "Sorry. It's been a long day."

Rusty's scowling obstinate expression melted into horrified panic. "Oh, no. No, Sharon – please. Just… " He stepped closer to her, his expression anguished, pleading. "Just let me go to the Broades. I'll be good. I won't run away. I promise."

She waited a moment longer before turning back to face him; tears were still in her eyes when she met his gaze, but her tone was firm, clear: "I don't want you to go."

"But that doesn't seem to make any difference!" He banged angry fists against the back of the couch. "I feel that this is all my fault! You want to go be with your family and I'm just … I'm keeping you hostage here!"

"Honey, you're not keeping me hostage. None of this is your fault."

"Then it's Emma's fault!" he railed "Why couldn't Stroh kill _her_! I hope if he gets free, he'll go after her!"

"_Rusty_." She looked aghast.

"It's true! She's a horrible woman, Sharon," he said tearfully, "it's not enough that she destroyed my friendship with Kris, she wants to ruin my whole life and _now_ she's going after _you_!"

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a moment as though to hold back more tears. "Come here. Please."

This time he dropped next to her on the couch, arms crossed and his body tightly wound. Sharon put a hand on his arm and gave him a serious look.

"This… is a _terrible_ situation to be in," she said softly. "For both of us. But right now there's nothing we can do about it. And Rusty," he fingers squeezed his arms lightly. "it's not your fault any more than it's my fault. Just… remember that, okay? And try to be good."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the length of this chapter. Somehow it all made sense in my head, but it did get out of control slightly. Hopefully it didn't detract from reading! I'll keep it shorter in future installments :).  
**

**Thank you for reading the story! As always, I love hearing from you :). **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing this story :).**

**Remember when I said this would have 10-12 chapters? Ha, ha, jk! (I feel that textspeak better expresses my embarrassment over this :P). Turns out I had no idea what I was talking about. We're looking at like, 15, because the story kept growing ... but i will STILL try to post them by Monday night. We'll see how that goes. At the very least we'll get through the end of the work week in the universe of the story, and past the day of the funeral. **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (10)**

The brief conversation with Rusty had given Sharon _some_ peace of mind. She'd finally told him that she wanted him to stay, and he hadn't argued anymore, and _there_ at least was one positive thing about the whole terrible affair. But what relief that might have brought was quickly smothered underneath the weight of her ever-growing anguish.

The more time passed and the closer they got to the funeral, the heavier her heart became. The initial shock of Monday night's events had begun to wear off, replaced now by a deep, sorrowful longing. She needed nothing more than to be with her family; so much that the ghosts of their faces and voices were her constant companion, and her chest constricted each time she recognized she _wouldn't_ be there, wouldn't be able to share in the solace and grief of their coming together.

She wasn't just being forced to deprive _them_ of her help and comfort, she realized – she'd had to relinquish the chance for that comfort for herself, and that was perhaps even more damaging. Her family, Sharon consoled herself, still had each other, and with or without her presence they would still pull together and keep each other strong. In her isolation from them, she fared far worse.

She wished, so dearly that her heart ached she _wished_ that she could be with them.

* * *

Going in to work didn't do much to keep her mind off the pervasive sorrow. Sharon tried to stick to business as usual, but it was difficult and everyone around was still on pins and needles. Worse, in addition to the sympathetic looks from her team (which were only getting more and more distressed with every day and hour), there were now three new Robbery-Homicide and two Traffic officers who scrutinized her a lot more keenly and with far less gallant intentions, and even though she knew that it probably wasn't true, it felt as though her private life were in a very unwelcome limelight.

True to her word, she'd let Provenza take point on the case, not least of all because she didn't want her own troubles to impair their capacity to solve it. Still, even in a less involved role she found it draining… and in any event the case wasn't being solved all that efficiently, either.

"–implicated in the attempted robbery of a convenience store. Sebastian 'Buddy' Hall was caught and convicted, served five years, paroled last year for good behavior." Lt. Tao pinned a mug shot to the murder board.

The one Robbery-Homicide Lieutenant, a tall man with graying hair, looked doubtful. "This guy did time for trying to steal some cash and a few six-packs of beer. He's doesn't fit the profile of our car jackers."

Provenza's eyebrows arched. "Didn't know you were a profiler now, Collins."

"I'm just _saying_," the man retorted irritatedly, "that we've got better leads to follow, such as the chop shop owner on thirty-sixth, or the fact that the second murder was in gang territory."

Provenza rolled his eyes. "Yes, bringing _gangs_ into it is exactly what this case needs." He waved a hand at the murder board. "Which part of this says 'gang operation' to you, exactly?"

"More likely than 'small time paroled crook ' operation," Collins shot back.

Sharon suppressed the need to lower her face in her hands. Inter-division cooperation had been going far from smoothly that morning, and it did not promise to get better.

This joint task force was an exercise in diplomacy, and unfortunately most of her team really were team players only when it came to each other. Provenza scoffed at every other word that came out of the Robbery-Homicide people's mouths. Flynn was poking holes in most of their arguments. Sanchez was monosyllabic. Even Sykes, whom Sharon had expected to be fairly welcoming, was in fact blatantly siding with the two Lieutenants, which maybe wasn't so surprising after all – she may have felt her own acceptance was too fresh to risk doing anything else but closing the ranks.

"The bullets we recovered from one of the victims match the one Hall fired in the convenience store," Tao hurried to put in before the argument could continue, "so we know at least his gun was used in the carjackings. But," he conceded, "'Buddy' did say in his original statement that he threw the gun away after it went off in the store, and it was never recovered, so it _is_ a long shot…"

"Going after Hall is a gigantic waste of time," Collins insisted, to nods from his two detectives.

"He's the last known connection we have to one of our murder weapons," said Flynn. "Of course we're gonna want to talk to him."

"He threw the gun away six years ago!"

"So he _says_," Provenza corrected. "Criminals have been known, on occasion, to _lie_."

"I say the chop shop owner is our better bet."

"And _I_ say your wife is lucky you don't live in Vegas."

Collins' face flushed. "Captain Raydor!"

Sharon sighed.

"I agree with Lt. Provenza," she said, knowing it wouldn't help matters; sure enough, the Robbery-Homicide officers exchanged displeased glances. "Let's get Buddy Hall's location from his parole officer, and bring him in to tell us exactly what he did with that gun six years ago. In the meantime…Det. Sanchez, can you and Det. Sykes look into the gang angle anyway?" At the man's nod, she added. "I don't think that's what we're dealing with here, but it's too early to completely rule anything out…."

It surprised her a little, how even saying those few sentences had left her nearly breathless.

She knew she wasn't doing a great job staying focused, and she knew that the team were working extra hard to make things easier for her. But there was only so much they could do, and while she felt so grateful for the silent support, no amount of effort on their part could compensate for her being unable to go and be with her family. And however much she forced her mind back to the case, her spirits sunk lower with every passing second.

* * *

By noon, the tensions between the different divisions had escalated to the point where they'd willingly separated into three different assignments, to at least avoid more screaming matches. The Major Crimes team openly enjoyed the reprieve, glad to have their murder room to themselves again after a morning full of bickering and the divisions trying to one-up each other. They didn't hold themselves _particularly_ responsible for the breakdown in communications (Lt. Collins had endeared himself to no one), but it didn't surprise them, either, when Chief Taylor showed up and crankily advised the Captain to remind her squad what 'collaboration' meant.

Raydor did, but she didn't put much heart into scolding them, although they couldn't tell for sure if that was because she truly didn't find them all that guilty, or because she was too tired to work up a good lecture.

Then things took a slightly unexpected turn.

* * *

" – and while this case _is_ primarily in Major Crimes jurisdiction, this is a _joined_ task force, and our colleagues from Robbery-Homicide and Traffic have _just_ as much right…" Mid-way through her half-hearted pep talk on inter-division collaboration, Sharon trailed off as she noticed a few puzzled looks toward the doorway behind her. When she turned her head, her breath hitched in her throat.

A young man had paused in doorway, his expression somewhat uncertain, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his leather jacket as he waited for her attention.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips

"Ricky…!"

And her heart nearly stopped when the young man gave his incredibly familiar self-deprecating smile and shrug. "Hi, Mom."

Sharon was too stunned to do anything but stare in dazed silence, but when her son closed the distance between them in three big steps and enveloped her in a hug, her arms automatically went around him, her fingers clasping the back of his jacket like a lifeline.

* * *

It took her a couple of minutes to recover, and although she couldn't quite remember how they'd gotten to her office, she was grateful for the privacy, because the composure that hadn't quite broken under the strain of the past days had definitely vanished completely with the shock and joy of seeing her son.

She touched a hand to his cheek, slightly surprised and immensely grateful that he didn't grimace awkwardly as he usually did. "What are you doing here, honey? I'm so happy to see you," her voice unexpectedly cracked, "I am, but…"

"Katie told me you were having problems," he admitted. "You _kind_ of freaked her out, Mom." He'd meant it half-jokingly, but when her eyes filled with tears he winced. "Okay… and now you're kind of freaking _me_ out." He'd never seen her like this. "What's going on? ...Is this because of grandpa?"

She looked up for a second, an attempt to hold the tears at bay. "I'm going to miss him very much," she said quietly, her breath catching again. She couldn't talk more about it, couldn't even _think_ more on it because she could feel the reins on her grief slipping.

"I know… me too." The young man sighed. "It's… weird, you know? I mean, we knew he was getting older but…this was just so…" He trailed off at her expression. "Sorry. This isn't helping."

"Don't apologize honey," she smiled in understanding. "I know how you felt about grandpa. And he loved _you_, _so_ much."

They were silent for a second, lost in their own thoughts, and then Ricky spoke again. "I've missed you, Mom. I'm sorry about… all this." He gave her an earnest look. "Please come up with me to grandpa's funeral. We need you there… _you_ need to be there."

Sharon's eyes closed for a second, her expression growing more distant. "Honey, I want to, _so much_," she whispered, "_please_ don't think I don't want to be there, but… I just… it's… not possible."

"Why?" he asked quietly, and grimaced at her silent headshake. "Mom, come on… I know you think Katie and I are still kids, but we're worried about you." He caught her hands and rubbed them gently between his, a little surprised to find them ice cold.

A smile made its way through her pained expression. "Mother's privilege. I get to see you as kids until you're fifty." It was the first time in days that she'd felt the least inclined to joke, and just the realization of that brought tears to her eyes again.

"Mom..." Ricky sounded like he didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry. Hang in there, okay?" He patted her hands a little awkwardly. "It'll be okay." That didn't seem to help much, making him even more worried. "Can you at least tell me what's going on? Did something else happen?" After a few seconds with no real answer, he changed tactics: "Is it classified?"

The droll question earned him a small chuckle. "No, it's not classified," she said finally, "it's just… complicated." Sharon took a deep breath, steeling herself. "This isn't something you need to worry about though, honey."

He couldn't quite suppress an eye-roll. "_That_ ship's already sailed," he pointed out, then adopted his most persuasive expression. "Look, Mom… whatever it is, that's why I'm here, so we can figure it out. This isn't right, you not being able to go up for grandpa's funeral." He squeezed her hand. "Will you _please_ just let me at least _think_ of a way to help?"

Sharon bit her lips. "Oh, Ricky… I don't think there's any way to help, in this case." She blinked, a couple of tears spilling out. "I'm sorry honey, it's been a tough couple of days." She reached for the box of tissues on her desk. "I'm so, _so_ grateful that you came all the way down here to see me."

He half-sighed, half-laughed. "It's not _that_ far, Mom, I work in San Francisco. And I came 'all the way down here' to _help_," he reiterated. "If you'd only tell me what's going on. I _can_ occasionally be useful, you know."

She smiled at him with unending affection. "Thank you for wanting to fix this for me."

It sounded a lot like what she'd say to him when he was twelve, and Ricky sighed at the obvious lack of confidence in his – admittedly, somewhat newfound – adult abilities. "Let's just see how it goes..."

A commotion erupted outside the squad room before either of them could say anything else, and as she heard the angry shouts and saw her team rushing out in alarm, Sharon automatically jumped from her seat. "Stay here," she told him firmly, and, making sure she had her gun, hurried toward the corridor and the source of the agitation.

* * *

It took the two Robbery-Homicide detectives and Sanchez to subdue small-time crook and recent parolee Buddy Hall, and not before his thrashing tipped over a couple of framed rosters, dented a water fountain and broke a small bench.

"–sue you for police brutality! Hooligans!" Even when he was immobilized, face against the wall, the man continued to shout. "I didn't _do_ anything! This is a blatant contravention of my civil rights! _I'm innocent_!"

"Lieutenant." Again, Sharon felt herself gasping for breath, and she tried to mask it by taking a second to make sure the safety was back on her gun. "_What_'s happening?"

Flynn's concerned look told her she wasn't fooling him, but he didn't comment. "Buddy here didn't take kindly to being brought in for questioning." Flynn gave the ex-con a disgusted glare, as the three detectives carted him off in handcuffs to one of the interview rooms. "He flipped out when Det. Malone mentioned the carjackings."

Sharon couldn't believe her ears. "He mentioned the carjackings _before_ the actual interview?" Flynn returned a long-suffering look, as if to say, 'I know, right?', and she took a deep breath. "And _why_ did that man, who isn't even a _suspect_ yet, look like his nose was broken?" Her heart was still pounding loudly in her ears.

"That might've happened when he went ballistic just now," the Lieutenant admitted. "It wasn't us, though." He sighed. "I'll call for a medic to take a look at him... Captain," he suggested in a lower tone, "everything's under control here, why don't you… take the afternoon off, talk to – "

She wanted to be irritated, but didn't have the energy for it. "Lieutenant, a man with a broken nose is threatening to sue us for police brutality, and our collaborating detectives tipped our hand before even starting the interview."

"So you'll be glad to know we'll be handling Buddy ourselves from now on, interview and all." Provenza walked up to the two of them, his expression still showing faint traces of exasperation. "We'll make sure to charm him into not suing us."

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "Lieutenant–"

"Don't worry," he acknowledged. "His nose isn't broken… and I'll make a _personal apology_ on behalf of that overeager idiot Malone."

The promise of Provenza trying to charm an indignant suspect into _anything_ wasn't entirely reassuring, but when the Lieutenant added: "Besides, don't you have something more important to take care of?" and motioned with his head at something behind her, Sharon's thoughts abruptly changed focus.

"I told you to wait in my office."

Her son cleared his throat and shrugged, only half-repentant. "Sorry...?"

And Sharon couldn't even _think_ about being mad, because the sight of that expression he always tried to use to get out of trouble just made her heart warm up all over again. She let out a shaky sigh.

With the experience of his nearly twenty-five years of capitalizing on her moments of weakness to get his way, Ricky saw his chance: "You know, Mom…" He grimaced. "It _was_ a six-hour drive down here and I didn't really have breakfast… any chance you're free to go eat something?"

Her eyes softened immediately, but she still cast a hesitant glance in the direction of the interview room that held their cantankerous person of interest. When her eyes met Flynn and Provenza's, however, with an almost-questioning glance…

"_Please_." "Go on, we've got this!"

…and Sharon nodded in silent gratitude. "I'll get my purse, honey."

As soon as she was out of earshot, Provenza gave Ricky an approving nod. "Good, kid."

The young man adjusted his jacket a little uncomfortably then, with a worried glance after his mother, decided there was nothing to lose by asking: "What exactly is going on here?"

The two lieutenants exchanged a grim look.

* * *

Ricky was reminded how rare it was to have two victories in a row over his mom when he tried to get her to take the rest of the day off. She certainly looked like she could use it, but no amount of clever coaxing had gotten her to let him drive her home – instead she'd sort of half-agreed, asking to drop by the station again to take care of a few more things before they could go home.

So he'd dropped her off in the front of the building and circled around for a few minutes to find a good parking spot. When he finally did and made his way back and signed in again, he got a rough welcome in the form of a body slamming heavily into his right by the elevators, a flurry of papers drifting down in the aftermath.

"_Excuse me_!" An angry female voice came from somewhere below, and he shook off the surprise to see a young _very attractive_ woman (if one ignored the irate scowl) half-kneeling on the tile floor. "Are you _blind_? Or do you just _voluntarily_ not look where you're going!"

His eyebrows flew up. She looked _really_ stressed. "…sorry?" Considering he'd been standing still and she'd barreled into _him_, the apology didn't seem entirely warranted, but he didn't mind. He even kneeled down to help gather her scattered papers. "Here."

"These are _confidential_ court documents," she snapped, yanking the small stack he'd held out.

He arched his eyebrows again. "Sorry…?" He wondered, if he held out his hand to help her back to her feet, whether she'd bite it off. Finally with a quick glance at her heels he decided she'd probably need the help, and cautiously reached his hand.

She took it with an annoyed grumble and pulled herself up so abruptly it nearly sent _him_ to the floor. "Okay…"

"Next time, look where you're going," she huffed.

Ricky bit his lips. "Right."

She gave him a sideways glance as the elevator doors began to open. When they both stepped in, her shoulders slumped. "Okay, sorry," the woman sighed in a more normal tone. "It's just been a _really_ long day. You have no idea."

He tilted his head in sympathy. "Here's hoping it gets better," he smiled. She really did look a lot prettier without the Medusa death stare.

"I doubt it... What floor?"

"Uh." With a frown, he realized he'd completely forgotten the floor number. He shrugged, and tried to remember the name of his Mom's division. "…uhm…the… investigation…" then he caught himself, "wait, no…serious crimes? Major Crimes!" He nodded, proud at himself, and was slightly surprised to see her grimace.

"Ugh. Run in the opposite direction," she groaned.

"What?"

The woman shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind." She pressed the correct button. "Ignore me."

Ricky gave her a funny look, but immediately segued into a smooth grin. "That would be very hard to do."

She returned a dry sideways glance. "Nice try. I don't flirt with police."

"How lucky that I'm not police, then."

She measured him, huffed again, disbelieving, amused. "You're too young to be a lawyer."

He affected an intrigued mien. "Only lawyers and police allowed in this building, then?"

"Oh no, that's right!" her face lit up with sudden understanding, and her eyes narrowed at him as she concluded: "You must be a criminal, then."

Ricky laughed, and was rewarded with a knowing smirk.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the slightly-familiar-looking corridor. He figured out the right direction to go in, and was pleased to see her pick the same.

"What do you know, we're going the same way – your day must already be getting better."

Another sideways glance. "Don't push your luck, little boy," she snickered, although he was somewhat disappointed to see her amusement fading quickly the closer they got to the squad room.

"So, since we've established that I'm a criminal – what are _you_ doing here?" he asked, trying to keep the light repartee.

"My _job_," the woman grumbled, with an eye roll undirected at him, "because at least _someone_ has to, around here."

His eyebrows arched, but before he could say anything else, they reached the squad room and she continued past, further down the corridor, with only the briefest 'good luck' over her shoulder, and Ricky was left feeling slightly confused.

* * *

Despite Ricky's insistences and her own desire to go home, Sharon felt obligated to at least check back with the team, given the way she'd left things. Fortunately, returning after a very long lunch she found that the situation with 'Buddy' was under control. Reassured that he was not being charged with anything and happy with the apologies he was getting, the man had agreed to not press charges, and indeed had provided them with unexpectedly useful information when he'd admitted that he'd tossed his gun over a fence into someone's back yard, six years previous. He'd even agreed to drive by in an unmarked car to see if he could recall the exact spot, and so at the moment Sanchez and Provenza were driving him around the neighborhood where he'd once attempted to rob a convenience store.

Ricky was content to wait at an unoccupied desk, an eye on his work email and the other on his mom as she wrapped up whatever business she felt she needed to attend to. Concern creased his brow as he followed her with a discreet glance: he'd never seen her look this tired and worn, ever. It was sobering, and on the heels of his grandfather's death, well… it was definitely making him think bad thoughts. Now grown up, he and Katie joked around about how their mom thought she was Wonder Woman, but really they didn't think she was that far off. It was tough to break an entire childhood's worth of conviction that she was always right, always there, always ready, always able to change things when she wanted and make things better when they needed it.

But to get an abrupt reminder that parents, too, are human and fragile, was even tougher.

Even now she was refusing to tell him what was wrong. But it was clearly more than grief over her father's death… she looked exhausted, jittery, hassled. That morning, he'd considered calling her to let her know he was coming, but Katie had told him to surprise her and now he knew why – if she'd had any time to prepare, his mom would've probably tried to put up her composed front, convinced him everything was fine.

Katie really _had_ gotten all the smart genes.

As if by telepathy, his phone buzzed with a text message from his sister.

_? ? What's going on w Mom_

Sadly, he still didn't have a clear answer. He was piecing it together, but it made so little sense that Ricky was still convinced that he was missing some pretty important chunks of the puzzle.

_Working on it_

It felt weird, trying to take care of Mom this way. Not that they didn't always worry about her, especially with her job and her living alone in a different city... But usually it was an abstract kind of worry, the kind that made them pick up the phone and check in just to hear her laugh and joke and know that everything was going fine. It was a worry about what _might_ happen, or how she _might_ feel, a distant sort of responsibility that they knew wouldn't become pressing for a very long time yet.

This, this was present and concrete and _urgent_, and it was the first time that he and his sister felt they had a real chance to _do_ something for their mom. Something that wasn't just a visit or a nice present or a fun birthday surprise. Something that she _needed_. Something serious. Like all the things she'd done for _them_ all their lives.

Except he didn't even know where to start.

* * *

Rusty was surprised when he walked into the squad room and Sharon turned her head and greeted him with a smile that, for the first time in days, didn't seem so effortful. She looked… well not _happy_, not with the dark circles under her eyes and the worry lines and the still-too-pale complexion, but she looked… better. A little. And he was surprised again just a second later, when a weight seemed to lighten in his stomach, a weight he hadn't even fully realized was there.

He returned a quick smile of his own, and signaled toward the conference room, to let her know where he'd be, and she nodded in silent agreement.

It was about twenty minutes later that she came to him, and he was glad to confirm that she still had a slightly lighter air about her, as if the leaden sadness that had enveloped her for the past two days had lifted, just a little.

"How was school?"

"Uh – good!" And it really did seem that way, now. "How… how are _you_?"

She replied with a small smile. "I'm okay, honey."

He glanced at the crowded murder room. "Looks like a busy day."

"Chief Taylor formed a temporary joint task force for our latest case," she confirmed, "so there are a few extra detectives around." She pulled a chair and sat down next to him. "Rusty, listen…"

Sharon paused for a second, but her expression was serene, pleased, so Rusty didn't feel too worried because this was the face she got when she had good news, so he leaned forward unconsciously to hear what she had to say, because maybe something _good_ had happened finally, and maybe things were looking up…

"My– "

The door to the conference room flew open and a sandy-haired young man poked his head in. "Mom, do you mind if I make a quick run to – oh." He looked startled to see Rusty. "Sorry! I didn't realize you were with someone, never… mind…" he trailed off as his eyes took in the boy, and his mind processed exactly who it was.

Rusty, meanwhile, hadn't processed past the first word out of the stranger's mouth.

_Mom!_

He froze, unable to hide his shocked look.

Whatever this was, it somehow didn't _feel_ like good news.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter slightly on the long side, but all of you seemed happy with that last time, so hopefully it's okay. Next chapter should be up fairly soon, and we'll get to see more Rusty and Ricky discussion and reactions, and maybe even another encounter between Ricky and Emma - I'm not 100% decided on including that scene yet. (so feel free to make your opinion known!) **

**Thanks so much for reading this story. You know I feel about your feedback pretty much the same way Sharon feels about her evening glass of wine ;)!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing this. You guys are wonderful. **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (11)**

Ricky loved his mom, he really did, _obviously_ he did but sometimes he couldn't say he felt the same about her decisions.

Granted, ninety percent of those times it would eventually turn out she'd been right (most of those had been during his puberty), and then some other times it would turn out that she was a free human being with the right to make her own calls independent of her kids' wishes (they were still coming to grips with that one). He suspected that the decision that bemused him now might fall into the latter category, but at the moment he was having a very hard time understanding what on Earth his mom was thinking.

Beyond that, he was also very unhappy with the fact that right after he'd inadvertently interrupted her conversation with her foster kid, his mom had been called away for the captain of homicide-something-or-other, and she'd left him and Randy alone! (Rudy? Ralphie? Damn it, Mom had said the name a dozen times on the phone, and then again _just now_…but Ricky's brain was on strike or something, because it just refused to offer it up).

Now, Ricky had been told, on occasion, that he'd inherited his father's (alleged) natural charm. He wasn't too sure, having rarely seen the man in action, but it was true that he usually found it pretty easy to make small talk with strangers. Katie had some trouble with that, Mom had _a lot_ of trouble with it. But to him it usually came naturally, spontaneous words, light banter, the right thing to say to strangers.

Not so at the present moment.

Most of all he wanted to ask the boy what was going on, because he had a feeling that here, at last, he'd find the answers he was missing – which was most of them. But he couldn't find a way to bring it up, and starting a desperate interrogation out of the blue wasn't exactly a polite friendly overture. He'd have to at least _try_ to lead in with something more appropriate.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather," the boy suddenly said, in a neutral, if slightly rushed, tone, fixing him with a guarded gaze.

"Thanks." Ricky sighed, not just at the reminder of what was going on and how urgent the situation, but also at the fact that there weren't a lot of light topics he could transition into from _that_. And if he didn't get the facts soon, there was no way to help Mom, and… that just wasn't an option at this point.

He sighed again. "Listen, kid –"

"I'm _not_ a kid," the boy warned quietly, and Ricky paused.

"Fair enough. Uh–" He hesitated, and must have taken a moment too long to produce the right name, because the boy's eyebrows rose in an indignant expression.

"_Seriously_?" Then he seemed to catch himself. "Rusty," he provided without further commentary, and Ricky grimaced somewhat apologetically.

"Right. Sorry. Rusty." Suddenly launching straight into a Q&A seemed like pretty bad form; he sighed almost against his will. "Is there a vending machine or something around here? I could really use a soda…"

Rusty hesitated, looking suspicious again, but after a moment he just gave a small sort of half-shrug. "In the break room," he said, and got up from his seat to walk to the door. "Down the hall," he mumbled over his shoulder before going out of the room to presumably lead the way, without once checking whether Ricky was following.

Ricky sighed again. So much for that natural charm.

* * *

The whole soda excuse hadn't really helped matters along; they still stared at each other in awkward silence, except now instead of the conference room it was in the break room.

Ricky took about five times longer than usual to open his can of Coke, and tried again. "So… do you...watch any sports?" Ugh.

Rusty's eyebrows rose fractionally, almost as though the kid was silently mocking him. "Not really." He seemed to think for a moment, then let out an almost inaudible sigh. "Sometimes. If they're on TV."

"Are you on any varsity teams at school?"

"No."

This was _not_ going well. "I was on the track team," Ricky offered.

And this time Rusty's eyebrows _definitely_ arched in a dry manner."I _know_."

Which was unsettling for a moment, before Ricky remembered that this kid lived with his mom, and went to his school, and suddenly it was all unsettling for a whole different reason.

Somehow this situation had never sounded so weird over the phone. Or maybe Mom had just known how to spin it. But faced with the reality of things, the reality of this … _stranger_ so inextricably weaved in his mom's life, in the know where he and Katie were out of the loop, present when they were elsewhere, in Mom's house, at her workplace, _all the time_, Ricky found it all just…

Scary.

But Mom had said she was doing the right thing.

But people made mistakes.

And he just knew _so little_ about the whole situation, that it was impossible _not_ to second-guess it. And this was his mom, his mom who was looking so worn today, so sorrowful and weary and who'd barely managed to get through a soup at lunch and who could hardly say a few words to him without getting tears in her eyes and… and now there was this kid, and a half-formed story Ricky just couldn't wrap his mind around, and he was beginning to understand why she'd said it was 'complicated'.

He only wished he could fix it for her.

Rusty was giving him a long, gloomy look from above his own can of Coke. "What exactly did Sharon _tell_ you about me?" he asked suddenly.

He looked uncomfortable, which was at least one thing Ricky could relate to. "Uhm, that you're going to help put a criminal away... That you're staying with her until the trial…" Ricky shrugged, nodded to the boy's uniform. "That you're going to St. Joseph's, where by the way, don't get on Sister Mary Francis' bad side, if no one's told you that yet…"

But his attempt to lighten the mood didn't get through. "What else?" demanded Rusty, and Ricky felt taken aback by the insistence, and a little irritated.

"I don't know, nothing much," he couldn't help himself: "what's with the third degree?"

In truth, Mom _had_ mentioned something about the boy's own mother having abandoned him at the Zoo, and how he'd not taken well to the foster family he'd been with before coming to her, and that he'd been through a lot. But no more details than that. And somehow, on the phone she'd made Rusty sound like a little boy – but what Ricky saw now was a nearly grown young man, and even though he _tried_ not to think it, the thought came unbidden that if this kid ever wanted to hurt Mom, he'd stand a fair chance…

Ricky knew that if his mom could hear his thoughts, she'd be _exceptionally_ displeased. But he still couldn't help it.

Rusty had his arms crossed defensively in his seat across the table. "She didn't tell you… other things." His tone was doubtful, and for good reason, and Ricky didn't _like_ lying…

"Okay," he admitted, "she told us about your mom. I'm sorry about that." And he meant it too. Yet as the boy's expression darkened he felt a pang of concern: "If you're thinking to give Mom a hard time about telling us–"

"I'm not _planning_ to!" Rusty sounded indignant, and scowled; but then he said in a more composed tone: "That's it? Nothing else?"

And this time Ricky recognized the insistence for what it was – anxiety, and he was taken aback once more. Nothing _else_? Wasn't that enough? What else _was_ there? "What exactly are we talking about here?" he wanted to know.

But their conversation was abruptly derailed when someone else entered the break room.

* * *

Rusty felt _ambushed_, and he knew he didn't have a right to feel that way and that this wasn't about him, but he couldn't help it.

He didn't know _why_ he'd been so surprised, after all when Sharon had asked him to go up to Minnesota with her _obviously_ they were going to meet her kids. For the few hours that he'd actually thought he'd get to go, Rusty had run through a few (okay, a few dozen) scenarios in his head about what they might be like or how they might react to him, but _this_…

…this wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not now. Not _here_.

Here was _his_ space, his shelter, the place where he was supposed to be safe, and then suddenly this _stranger_ shows up with zero warning and Sharon just bails and … the guy hadn't even managed to remember Rusty's _name_, for god's sake! And there were the suspicious looks and the awkward conversation and Rusty just _really_ wanted to hate him…

… but how could he _hate_ Sharon's son?

Her expression had just been so _happy_ when she'd looked at him. Even through the obvious weariness she'd radiated a quiet joy. It had been there in her easier smile, in the way her lips no longer pressed together painfully without her even noticing. In that light in her eyes that Rusty hadn't seen in days, and how could he even _think_ about hating this Ricky if his presence alone was enough to bring the light back into Sharon's eyes?

No, Rusty couldn't hate her son. But he sure as hell couldn't _like_ him either, even though he knew he should have... but this was a stranger who'd swept into Rusty's space uninvited (only it wasn't _really_ his space, was it?), and there was no telling _what_ he'd do, and it was all just too tense and sudden and _weird… A_nd anyway the guy wasn't exactly all warm and cuddly either, and that was fine with Rusty. He couldn't hate 'Ricky', and he couldn't like him, so all Rusty could do was be grateful to him, for Sharon.

And be nice.

He was definitely going to be nice. Even when Ricky forgot his name, or made stupid small talk, or looked at Rusty like he was some juvenile delinquent. Even (Rusty's jaw tensed) when Ricky looked at him like he'd try to … _do_ something, to Sharon.

He'd be nice.

Then Emma showed up in the doorway to the break room.

* * *

The case and the joint task force were looking much better than they had this morning.

The carjackers hadn't been uncovered yet, but Buddy Hall had helped retrace the trail of one of the murder weapons, and the team would soon have another suspect in custody. There had also been some new evidence uncovered, and by some miracle (probably the absence of Lt. Collins, whom Provenza had summarily sent to stake out a suspicious garage), the remaining officers from all three divisions were collaborating somewhat more smoothly. She'd just finished a brief conversation with the Robbery-Homicide captain, and it had gone amiably on both sides, and he'd even offered further resources and the promise to reiterate to his people that Lt. Provenza was in charge.

All in all, Sharon was confident that things were going well, which helped her feel less guilty about the fact that she really didn't want to, wasn't _able to_ be there anymore...

She knew she didn't have much time with Ricky (her heart constricted again at the thought of how soon he'd be leaving… and _why_), and all Sharon wanted was to take every second to spend with him, to soak up the joy of seeing him again after so long and arm herself against the inevitable low that she knew was coming. She couldn't even fathom how she'd get through the next day. How she'd be able to go one whole day, knowing that, thousands of miles away, her family gathered to say goodbye to her father… and that she couldn't. That she'd never have that, the chance to be there with them … to see him one last time…

A knot suddenly caught in her throat, and she had to clench her jaw as tears abruptly gathered in her eyes.

A light touch on her back made her turn, and there was Lt. Flynn, his body positioned to block her view of the rest of the room – and _their_ view of her. His gaze was grave. "Go home, Sharon," he said softly, and she returned a small nod.

* * *

" – exactly are we talking about here?" Ricky was expecting an answer, but the entrance of a third person derailed his train of thought, and he was surprised but not displeased to recognize the young woman from the elevator. "Oh – hi!"

Having in turn noticed the two of them, Emma had paused uncertainly in the doorway, with a wary look.

Rusty had pushed his seat back and gotten up, his own look even warier.

Between them, Ricky just looked slightly confused.

Emma surveyed the situation for a moment, then decided it was safe enough to venture in, and returned his greeting: "Hi."

That was enough for Rusty to turn a disbelieving look on Sharon's son: "You _know_ her?"

"Uh…"

"Don't indulge him," she sighed, and to Rusty: "that's none of your business."

But the boy ignored her.

"_You_ know _Emma_?"

"Emma?" Ricky arched his eyebrows at her. "Nice name."

"What – it is _not_ a nice name – are you _kidding_ me right now!" Rusty's jaw dropped at the flirty tone, his eyebrows flying into his hairline in irate indignation. "Do you have any idea who she is?"

"Whoa." The sudden shouting only made Ricky irritated at the unwarranted overreaction. "Uh, why don't you take it down a notch– "

"Yeah, good luck with that," Emma muttered with an irritated eye roll, which only turned Rusty's anger back to her:

"Don't you _even_ – you're a _horrible person_ for what you're doing to Sharon!"

_That_ got Ricky's attention, his expression turning alarmed: "What?"

Emma crossed her arms. "Listen, kid – "

"I'm not _a kid_!" He angrily threw his arms up in the air.

"Yeah, that's exactly what you are and you're _acting like one_!" she raised her own voice in return. "I don't know what ideas you've been getting lately, but you can't talk to me like this, okay?"

Rusty opened his mouth to shout back another retort, and stopped himself.

_Just… be nice. _

_Don't yell. _

_Try to be good. _

His teeth clenched together. How _could_ he be _nice_, when she was standing _right there_, after _everything_ she'd done, and _everything_ that was going on, and now she was telling him how to act and what to do! Rusty _wanted_ to be good but he just didn't know how, _how_ was he supposed to react, what way _was_ there to keep his mouth shut and just…take it?

_Try to be good._

And so he tried, picking the only way he'd ever seen it done, and his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his eyes narrowed, and with the biggest effort he had ever made, he forced out a calm: "_Excuse me_." And left the break room without another word, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Emma groaned at the not-entirely-unfaithful impression of the Raydor cold shoulder. Great. Just what she wanted her star witness to be learning… so he could use it on her on the stand.

The young man from the elevator was giving her a perplexed stare. "Okay… what just happened here?"

"He's a material witness in one of my cases," she deadpanned.

He bit his lips. "Is he a material witness… for the opposite _side_…?"

Emma snorted humorlessly, "He might as well be, at this point." She growled in exasperation. "He and his so-called _guardian_ are trying to ruin my case! I can't believe this…" She trailed off, taking a deep breath. "You know what, never mind. Forget it."

Yeah, right. Ricky wasn't letting this go if his life depended on it. "No, tell me…" He breathed, trying to sound casual. "What's wrong with his guardian?"

That elicited an involuntary groan from Emma. "That _woman_."

* * *

Lt. Flynn felt an unexpected pang of relief when the Captain nodded in response to his advice (plea, really) to finally go home. He didn't know _how_ she'd carried on for two days, but it was clear she was at the end of the rope. Not that he could blame her, because _he_ couldn't even _imagine_ dealing with a similarly impossible scenario. Damned if you do, damned if you don't…there just wasn't _any_ right answer. His heart went out to her for being forced to choose.

As Provenza had put it, a nasty situation.

And it had clearly worn her down to the last of her reserves. If her son hadn't shown up, for which Flynn could've given him a medal, the day might have gone a lot differently – a lot _worse_. But even with the extra boost to her spirits she'd still been teetering too close to the edge all day, and when he'd seen her eyes fill with tears right there in the murder room, he'd decided it was past time to say something.

That she'd agreed to go home had reassured him somewhat, and knowing she wouldn't be alone reassured him even more.

Then from the corner of his eye he noticed Rusty stalk back into the room, obviously angry. And for the second time in two days, he couldn't properly hide his reaction because the Captain read it on his face, and she took a step to the side to see around him. Her expression grew immediately concerned.

She hurried over to the boy. "What is it? What happened?"

He looked distressed. "Nothing. It's fine." His tone was almost pleading, and then he blurted, "I'm sorry!"

All of which, of course, only increased the Captain's alarm. "Where's Ricky?" She glanced into the conference room, then her office, and as far as she could see down the corridor. "Rusty, what happened?"

"Nothing," the boy hurried to assure. "He's fine. He's in the break room – no, Sharon don't go in there!" His tone was almost desperate and he even sort of half-stepped into her path. "Please, just, everything's fine…" But his nervous, pleading look only worried her more, and Rusty felt awful when she headed over anyway, followed by Lt. Flynn; he didn't even know whether to go after them or not.

* * *

Sharon was both mildly alarmed and mildly reassured when she noticed Chief Taylor standing a few feet from the break room, shaking his head to himself. On the one hand, that hardly indicated that something urgent had happened… but on the other, why was the Assistant Chief of Police looking so grim and _where_ was her _son_?

"Chief. What's happening?"

And the man sighed. "A trainwreck. Don't worry," he told her, "your son's not the one causing it."

With that completely uninformative answer, she headed into the break room herself, and couldn't help a pang of distress at the sight of Emma Rios. The blood rushed involuntarily to her face.

At least there didn't seem to be any damage, but Ricky had that tense line to his mouth that only happened when he was upset, and suddenly Sharon couldn't believe that this woman had the nerve to make _her son_ unhappy, too! Her eyes flashed with anger.

Emma went on the defensive at her expression: "I didn't say _anything_ to Rusty," she protested, "he just flew off at me – as if I needed _more_ evidence that this whole situation is out of control…"

Sharon's eyes narrowed, but her heart did slow down a little when Ricky, who had stood up the second he'd seen her, walked over with a reassuring look in his eyes. "Everything's fine, don't worry. _Emma,_" he explained at his mom's questioning expression, "was just telling me the story of a heroic attorney's struggles to win a big profile case despite _overwhelming adversity_." He pause to give the DDA a dry glance. "I think it was called 'how to lose friends and alienate people'."

Flynn snorted.

"_Hey_!" Emma looked indignant. "What's _your_ problem all of a sudden?"

"Okay, that's enough," Sharon still felt confused by the whole exchange, but she'd lost her patience. "DDA Rios, I'd appreciate it if you stopped _terrorizing_ Rusty every time you see him and _in addition to that_," she spoke the words more forcefully to preempt the woman's interruption, "I'd thank you to not raise your voice at my son. Given your recent _propensity_ toward lengthy discourses on _professionalism_," she finished icily, "I think you'll find my requests more than reasonable."

And when the younger woman didn't make an immediate reply, she was only too happy to turn on her heels and leave the room, her son silently accompanying her with only one last, discrete, glare in the direction of the DDA.

Emma, of course, hadn't processed anything past the Captain's second request, and her jaw dropped as understanding dawned; she closed her eyes in brief horror. "Oh god." She let her head fall back, hands covering her face.

A few second later, she heard a shuffle and noticed Chief Taylor leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head.

"How long have you been there?" she asked in resignation.

"Long enough."

"Why didn't you _stop_ me, tell me who he _was_!"

And Taylor arched an eyebrow. "Before you picked the poor boy to use him as a convenient outlet for your frustration, DDA Rios," he said smoothly, "did it not occur to you to even ask _his name_?"

Emma groaned again. The capacity to ruin her day clearly ran in the Raydor family – foster and natural alike.

* * *

"I'm sorry sweetheart," Sharon murmured as they made their way back to the squad room, "today hasn't been the most relaxing day around here…"

"Wasn't expecting it to be," Ricky replied, a little absently. His brow furrowed in concentration as he was still processing everything he'd learned; about a hundred solutions occurred to him, but none that his Mom would accept. He understood now why she thought her hands were tied.

But to give up…?

She'd be heartbroken.

The source of all the complications was waiting by one of the desks in the squad room, and when they approached, his shoulders slumped.

"Sharon – I'm sorry… about what happened in the break room."

And Ricky mentally sighed, because _of course_ the kid _would_ be looking all miserable and making it all the more difficult to find that much fault with him.

His mom let out a long sigh. "Rusty, I don't know exactly what happened between you and DDA Rios," she admitted tiredly, "but extrapolating on the base of many, _many_ previous interactions, I'm going to risk making the statement that you have nothing to apologize for. Okay?" She squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Now give me a moment to get my things, and we can go home."

Both young men followed her with a long gaze as she walked back to her office, then they automatically glanced at each other.

Ricky wondered what his mom saw when she looked at Rusty.

Rusty wondered if his mom would ever look at him the way Sharon looked at Ricky.

* * *

_Uncle P just called back. Grandma said OK. It's done. _

A shiver went through Ricky as he read his sister's text.

After seeing Mom all day today, he couldn't envision _not_ fixing this for her. They knew, they _knew_ that grandpa's funeral wasn't about her, but it was _so wrong_ for her not to be there…

Ricky rubbed both hands against his cheeks and shifted his body, sinking deeper into the couch pillows. There was no going back from what they'd done. His eyes involuntarily glanced at the clock, which showed just after four-thirty p.m., and he realized they had only hours left to find a way.

_OK. will try to call soon. Get creative? ?  
_

He looked toward the kitchen, where Rusty was silently pulling out some plates for when the food delivery arrived. Mom was still changing in her bedroom. The whole house had a heavy air about it… and Ricky had no idea what to do.

There were so many problems and obstacles in place, he didn't even know which one to deal with first.

* * *

A light knock on his door caught his attention, but Rusty didn't want to open. It was either Sharon, and he was afraid of accidentally saying something to upset her, or it was Ricky and Rusty just plain wanted as little to do with him as possible. He still felt awful about that, but he just couldn't figure out any other way to feel, and he didn't know what his place was in this whole scheme of things, and it was all just too complicated.

That's why he'd holed up in his bedroom right after dinner in the first place. He'd also been hoping to give Sharon the time with her son that he was sure she wanted. _He_ only wanted to be left alone.

Only now it looked like that wasn't happening.

When the first knock went unanswered, a second one followed, and Sharon's faint voice came through the door. "Rusty?"

"Come in," he called involuntarily.

At least he hadn't locked the door. She opened it, and from the doorway surveyed him with one of those _looks_ of hers, and Rusty started squirming uncomfortably even though he hadn't done anything.

Sharon took another step inside the room, and he didn't _want_ her to come closer, but at the same time she looked like she was barely standing, so he pushed his laptop away and scooted over to leave ample space at the end of the bed for her to sit. And when she did, it was with such a tired motion that Rusty began swearing to himself that he'd keep his mouth shut and only say whatever she wanted to hear.

_Just… be nice. Don't yell. _

_Try to be good. _

He didn't really _know_ what Sharon wanted to hear, but he wanted very badly to say it to her.

Having perched at the end of his bed, she placed one hand against the bedspread and leaned slightly toward him. "Honey… I didn't get a chance to mention Ricky today. I didn't know he was coming."

It sounded like an apology, except she couldn't look quite apologetic because just saying her son's name still made her entire face light up.

And she shouldn't have been apologizing anyway.

He swallowed hard. "That's okay. That's great." And Sharon gave him that warm gaze that made his stomach tie up in knots. He automatically tried to scoot a little further, except there was no more room left.

She just kept fixing him with that tender gaze. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Yeah, I'm great."

Sharon looked like she wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite put it into words, and so she just let out a soft sigh. "Alright, Rusty… if you're sure."

"Sharon…" He fidgeted again. "What… what do you…want me to do…?"

Did she want him to go and hang out with her son? Play nice? Or give the two of them time alone? Or something else entirely? He didn't know – he _wanted_ to do it, whatever Sharon said, but he just needed to know what she wanted because he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

She gave him her affectionate smile: "Whatever you're comfortable with, Rusty," she said softly. "I just want you to be okay."

Which was exactly the kind of thing she'd say, but it wasn't really helping with his dilemma.

He stayed in his bedroom for a while longer, but left the door open, and from the living room their low voices drifted over, and he could even hear Sharon's soft chuckles every now and then, although, slowly, her interventions became rarer and Ricky's voice went on for longer and longer stretches, its inflections growing softer.

* * *

Sharon felt unreasonably angry at herself for being so tired.

She'd started to feel it soon after dinner, but having no intention to waste even a moment of her son's company, she'd fought it for a little while, and would have gone so far as to make herself a cup of coffee if Ricky hadn't noticed and loudly protested the idea of coffee at nearly eight p.m.. So she'd given that up, and drawn on her energy reserves as long as she could, rolling her shoulders and shifting her position and getting up for a few steps under pretexts of getting a glass of water or checking her phone… but even that wasn't working anymore.

Ricky's stories of his work and friends had kept her attention engaged, and normally she could've listened to him all night, but her body had just stopped cooperating. Curled on the couch beside him, she found herself listening more and making fewer and fewer comments, and was irritated when her eyelids kept fluttering closed.

"Mom…" She blinked heavily and heard her son's sigh. "Please go to sleep."

She waved it off again, of course.

"I'll be here in the morning," Ricky reminded her, then cursed himself because her expression sobered instantly, because _of course_ the next day was Thursday, and he was an idiot. "It's okay…"

Sharon let out a long sigh, and swung her legs out from under her. "I'll get you some sheets and pillows."

But he put a hand on her arm. "I know where the closet is, Mom. Just go to bed."

"Honey, it's not that late and I'm not that old," she joked, and Ricky thought to try a different tactic:

"_I'm_ tired… remember how I was driving over here at seven a.m.?"

But she only arched an eyebrow. "You're young, you'll get over it."

And they both smiled.

He finally managed to half-persuade her to at least move the conversation into her bedroom, and after she'd insisted to pull out a stack of sheets and blankets from the closet, and said goodnight to Rusty, she finally relented. Then there was nothing left to do but hold up his end of the bargain, until her eyes started to drift closed again, and still Ricky kept talking for a few minutes in a soft voice, before he pulled the light blanket up to her shoulder and kissed her temple. "Love you, Mom."

He switched off the lamp and went into the living room and picked up his phone.

He was scared. No matter how much of a brave front his mom was putting up, she couldn't bring herself to talk about grandpa, not more than a few words, and she couldn't get through ten seconds of conversation with grandma without adopting a heartbreakingly guilty look, and basically any time anyone in the family was mentioned, she'd break into frantic apologizing and torment herself over what she couldn't do.

He couldn't pretend to understand her reasons for her decision, but at the end of the day it wouldn't have mattered _which _way she'd decided - it didn't seem like she could forgive herself for making _any_ choice in the first place.

They couldn't let her live with that.

And the whole family _needed_ her with them this weekend.

And Ricky didn't care what Emma, or _anyone_ else, said. If Sharon Raydor wanted to have it both ways, in this impossible, awful case, well then she damn very well would.

It was time for him and Katie to dive into the desperate end of the solution pool.

His eyes wandered to the spare bedroom, its door now firmly shut.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter, we'll get to officially meet Katie!  
**

**Thanks so much for reading, and you know how I feel about your feedback ;)!**


	12. Chapter 12

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (12)**

If on the previous nights Sharon had been too agitated to sleep, consumed by fevered thoughts and sorrow and guilt, _now,_ exhaustion had caught up so completely that she found it almost impossible to wake up. The sound of her alarm drilled painfully into her mind, and her body simply felt too heavy to even so much as roll over. When she finally managed it, and blindly reached a hand over to the nightstand, she was jolted by the surprise of feeling someone else's hand touch hers.

"Sorry," Ricky whispered apologetically as he turned off the alarm on her phone, "I was hoping I'd get it before it woke you up."

Sharon wondered how long the thing had been going off without her hearing it. "It's okay," her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat to no avail, "I need to be up anyway…"

But he put a hand on her knee. "Why don't you sleep in a little longer? I can drop off Rusty at school on my way to the airport…"

"Honey, I want to go with you –"

"I'd rather you didn't," he admitted. "I don't want you to drive back alone. No, Mom, please…" he held off her protest with a pleading look, "just… I have plenty of time to drop off the kid and get myself to the airport. Please just stay home and get some rest…"

That she gave in that easily was both a relief, and a reason for extra concern. But Ricky tried not to think about it: if all went well, Mom would at least be able to be with everyone for grandpa's funeral, and maybe that wouldn't make her any less sad about her loss, but he hoped at least that it would make that tormented expression disappear, because he just couldn't bear to see it anymore.

A little before seven he and Rusty were both dressed and ready to go, and Sharon enveloped him in a hug at the door. "Thank you so much for coming down, sweetheart." She held on tight, pressing her lips together and taking a long breath to keep her voice from cracking. "Please… tell grandma I'm sorry…"

He sighed. "Okay…"

And she held the hug for as long as she could, until the seconds stretched on and there really was nothing else to do but let go, which she did with a breaking heart, and, wishing her son a safe flight and Rusty a good day at school, she closed the door after them. Once they were gone, Sharon made her way over the couch and sunk heavily into the pillows, curling her legs under her and lowering her face in her hands.

* * *

Ricky took the schoolbag from Rusty to put it in the trunk, and he was a little surprised at the weight. "What did you pack in here, bricks?"

"_Books_," the boy responded with an expression that clearly said, _'duh'_, and Ricky was a little baffled because why on Earth would Rusty take his schoolbooks…? But then what did _he_ know, maybe the kid had issues about leaving things he owned behind, or maybe the books had some sort of special value to him, and hey, who was Ricky to judge –

Rusty gave him a wry look, as though reading his thoughts. "Sharon is a _police officer_," he said with an eye roll. "Noticing evidence of a crime is kind of her thing… what do you think would _happen_ if she saw that I'd left all the books behind?"

Oh.

Okay, that made a lot of sense. Living away from Mom for a few years had made Ricky forget about her scary powers of observation and deduction… which was a dangerous thing to do, especially if they were trying to pull something off without her knowledge. He nodded in acknowledgment of Rusty's valid point.

They drove another stretch toward the school in silence, and he was a little surprised at how the kid hadn't made another protest yet this morning. The previous night, when Ricky had first knocked on his door and broached the topic, Rusty had sounded about ready to take his head off:

_You're crazy._

_You are _insane_, this is never going to work in a hundred _years_, it's … on what, like, _planet_ would that _end_ well?_

Which had frankly surprised Ricky a little, because the boy had barely strung five words together in a sentence all night long with him, and yet suddenly there he was, talking up a storm. After a lengthy heated debate and many convoluted explanations, it hadn't seemed like Rusty had any intention of going along with anything, and that had annoyed Ricky beyond belief, and there may have been some angry half-whispers bouncing off the halls of the spare bedroom.

_Did Emma put you up to this?_

_What? I'm doing this for _my mother_, and I don't know _what_ you think you know after a few months of crashing with her, but this is hitting her _hard_ and she can't _stay_ here while the rest of the family is up in Minnesota, she _needs_ to go to her_ _father's_ _funeral! How are you not getting this?_

There may have been some attempts at bossing around, and some sarcasm gone slightly out of control, and maybe just a _little_ bit of reverting to a teenager's attitude himself, which at the very least Ricky was proud to say didn't happen overly much these days.

There _had_ been that awkward moment when Rusty had wanted to consult a lawyer on the legality of it and Ricky had pointed out that they didn't have any lawyers on speed dial at midnight, and Rusty had suggested Dad which… yeah.

Anyway…

_Look, I won't pretend I understand what's going on with you or this whole situation, but Mom can't take you with her and she won't leave without you and there's just nothing else to do to help! _

_Emma's going to –_

_Who _cares_ what Emma's going to say? This is _Mom_ we're talking about! Who's side are you on, anyway?_

And suddenly and to Ricky's immense surprise, that had been the end of it. He was still baffled at that, a little, to be honest, because he couldn't understand how _that_, of all things, had settled the matter so quickly…but why question a good thing?

So, anyway… Rusty had relented, and they'd worked it out, more or less, as well as they could, and now here they were, en route to St. Joseph's, and the kid was still resolutely suppressing any further protests, but truth be told he looked a little green.

"Don't worry," Ricky tried to reassure. "It'll all turn out fine."

And Rusty gave him a dark sideways glance. "Did Sharon drop you on your head when you were like, a baby, or something?"

Okay. Reassuring: _not_ his strong point.

* * *

The Major Crimes squad first knew that something was wrong when Emma Rios burst into the room shortly after nine-thirty a.m., heels clicking angrily against the concrete floor, and fairly roared: "_Where_ is she?"

And of course they'd all had just about enough after the past few days, and Lt. Flynn stepped in her path and warned: "You need to take a break and stop harassing the Captain, because you're out of control."

"I just called Rusty's school on a hunch," she growled back, "and they told me he's not there today! Do you want to take a guess as to _why_?"

They exchanged slightly surprised looks, and Emma didn't really wait for a reply:

"Because apparently he's been _excused_, _by_ his guardian, to take a _trip_ with her on account of a _personal family problem_!" She was furious. "You're right, _someone's_ out of control but it's sure as hell not _me,_ so I'm going to ask again, _where_ is Captain Raydor? And you better _hope_ they haven't left yet because I'm _this_ close –"

"Alright, Rios, that's enough." Provenza had pushed his chair back, his coffee abandoned on the desk. "We're calling the Captain… but I've got a feeling that she's not behind this…"

"No, I'm sure this is all just an amazing coincidence," Emma retorted, "_completely_ unrelated to the mess that's been the last few days."

"I didn't say it wasn't related, I said she didn't do it." Provenza nodded to his partner. "Call her. Try for a… discrete inquiry," he advised. "No reason to worry her yet."

And when Flynn dialed, a little reluctantly, Emma marched up to him. "Put her on speaker."

He narrowed his eyes. "Captain," he greeted, disregarding the request. "I'm sorry to bother you –"

"Put her on speaker, or I swear to _God_ I will call a judge and get a _warrant_ out –"

He held up a hand, his look disgusted. "Captain," he said, "I'm putting you on speaker. DDA Rios is here, too."

There was a pause on the other end, then Sharon's voice came through. "_What's happening, Lieutenant?_"

Her voice was hoarser than usual, and already laced with a low-level anxiety. Emma opened her mouth but Provenza held up a warning finger, then nodded again to Flynn, who cleared his throat.

"Captain… where are you…?"

Another pause, then she sounded suspicious. "_At my apartment …why?_" Since no one said anything for a second, she added: "_Is something wrong with the case? If I need to come in –_"

"No, no," he hurried to refuse the offer. "The case is fine. We have a suspect in custody, he might lead us to the rest of them. Uh…" He didn't know quite how to broach the next topic without worrying her, and gave Provenza a helpless look, asking for suggestions. But before they could come up with anything, Emma demanded:

"Is Rusty with you?" She ignored the glares from the rest of the squad.

"_Rusty is _at school_, DDA Rios_," came Sharon's much colder voice, "_and as I asked you yesterday, please stop –_"

"He's not at school!" the woman retorted before anyone else could stop her. "As I'm sure you know perfectly well!"

This time, the pause on the other end was more pronounced, and when the Captain spoke again, the disdain was gone and there was unmistakable panic in her voice: "_What do you _mean_, he's not at school? _What_ is happening? DDA Rios!_"

"This is Provenza," said the older Lieutenant, "don't panic, we think we know what's going on, the kid's probably fine, but –"

"'_Probably fine'? Lieutenant –_" They were clearly past the 'don't panic' stage, unfortunately, and that only earned Emma another round of glares.

"I'll come by to pick you up, Captain," Flynn said quickly, "in the meantime maybe you can call Rusty or the school and figure out why he might've decided to take the day off… I'll be there in twenty minutes."

When he hung up he rounded on the DDA. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's _wrong_ is that I've made it _very clear_ that Rusty is a witness in a _major_ state case, and there are _rules_ to be followed, and Sharon Raydor is playing fast and loose with every rule in the book!"

"You heard the Captain, she didn't even know Rusty wasn't in school," Sykes defended. "You just worried her for no reason!"

"What, like I'm going to believe that she's not _in_ on this?!"

Sanchez gave her a long look. "You need to take a step back from all this," he advised, "because you're not doing yourself or your case any favors."

* * *

Flynn wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd run the siren to get to the Captain's house faster, but it still wasn't fast enough because by the time he picked her up twenty minutes later she was frantic, to the point where she met him downstairs in front of the building and all but jumped into his car before he'd even properly pulled up.

"I called the school, they said Rusty came in this morning but…" She shook her head, her eyes wide, "_Ricky_ told the school that Rusty had to go out of town… Sister Margaret knows my son and he said I couldn't be there myself to excuse Rusty, and she believed him, of course…" Sharon's voice trailed off, and she took a shaky breath. "God, Andy, _what_ is going on?"

He grimaced. "I think you know the answer to that."

But she refused to believe it. "He wouldn't… Ricky wouldn't…" Her trembling fingers dialed the phone again, and again with no results. "He's not picking up…his flight was at ten-fifteen so he might already be on the plane… but… he texted me just an hour ago to say he'd made it to the airport! And _where_ is _Rusty_?"

"Don't worry," Flynn advised, "you know they're fine, Sharon… they're just trying to help you."

"Help – this isn't _helping_!" She caught herself. "I'm sorry, I know this isn't your fault. I just… I can't believe my son _or_ Rusty would do something like this." Although as she spoke the words, she realized that they weren't entirely true. Rusty had been _so angry_ over what was happening, and he was feeling responsible… and Ricky had seemed so determined to help her and he didn't know the extent of the danger to Rusty and why, _why_ hadn't she realized that they might influence each other into a terrible, terrible decision?

"Oh, god…" She propped an elbow on the armrest and lowered her face into her hand. This morning, alone at home with only her grief and loss and her overwhelming sense of guilt, she'd thought things truly could not get worse… but she'd been wrong.

* * *

"_Where_ is my material witness?" Emma demanded the second that Captain Raydor and Lt. Flynn entered the murder room – but within seconds she had to admit that it may have been possible that the woman wasn't in on it. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale and she looked so frazzled, hastily dressed and with barely any make-up on, that even Emma had to at least allow her the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe. Of course, even if she _hadn't_ planned all this, which Emma still wasn't convinced about, that didn't make Raydor any less responsible.

"I just _knew_ something like this would happen," she groaned, "I _told_ you that you're exerting undue influence on my witness and _look_ at what's happening now! What do you think Stroh's defense is gonna say about this?"

Not caring in the least about Stroh or his defense, Sharon ignored her, glancing instead to Lt. Tao. "Lieutenant, is there a way to track Rusty's phone?"

"Already did," Tao grimaced as though he didn't have any good news, "last location was near a tower off Arlington, fifty-six minutes ago… and then it was turned off."

Sharon shook her head. "That's where the school is… he must've turned it off right after leaving… can we turn it on remotely…?"

"Tried. Not working… sorry."

Of course it didn't work, Rusty spent half his time at the station, he knew their tricks by now and if he didn't want to be found… A shiver ran through Sharon.

"Best we can tell is that the last known location was west of the school, so he may have been headed to a train station… or the airport…"

"Just so you know," Emma put in, "I'm checking all buses and trains toward Minneapolis and circulated Rusty's name to airport security at LAX. He's not on their list of passengers flying anywhere today, so he hasn't actually bought a ticket, but they know to keep an eye out now, so if you were planning to –"

"I was not _planning _any of this," Sharon retorted with forced calm, "and believe me, DDA Rios, this is _not_ how I envisioned spending today, not in my worst _nightmares_ so _don't_ test me right now."

"Are you expecting me to believe you had nothing to do with this?" Emma crossed her arms. "Because you're supposed to watch him twenty-four seven, and I don't see _how_ an unemployed _sixteen year-old_ could've schemed a way to get to _Minnesota_ without –" She trailed off. "Your son!"

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "Tread _very_ carefully," she warned.

"I don't think you understand what's at stake here," the younger woman shot back. "Our best witness, who I _told_ you was a flight risk, is out there, doing _god knows what_, right now, because he is _out of control_ and it's all _your_ fault," Emma was irate. "If you hadn't made such a spectacle when I suggested that he stay with the Broades for one _week_ –"

"Let me make one thing _very clear_," Sharon snapped, "_if_ Rusty found it necessary to do any of this it was because of _your_ unreasonable demands, and _your_ _unconscionable _attitude, and _if_ something happens to him I will hold you _personally_ responsible, and you are going to _regret_ the day you –"

Her phone went off, and her attention was instantly diverted at seeing her son's name on the screen. "_Ricky_, where _are_ you? Where's Rusty? Are you okay? No, don't apologize just tell me where. you. are. _Right_ now," she finished sharply. "Yes I am, _very_ angry," she said in a low tone, "but we can talk about that later, right now I _need_ to know that you and Rusty are okay, so please… tell me what happened and where you are."

She stepped into the corridor to continue the conversation, and after a glance to his partner, Lt. Flynn stepped out after her; but when Emma moved to follow, Provenza pointedly pushed the door closed, keeping her in the squad room. "Take a seat, Rios," he muttered. "Eavesdropping on this isn't gonna help you get anything done any faster."

* * *

"What do you mean, driving up to San Francisco?" Sharon was stunned. "You were supposed to be on a ten-fifteen flight…" her voice trailed off, her expression growing horrified. "_Ricky_…What have you done?"

"_It's grandpa, Mom_," he said simply. "_You can't not be there. Rusty didn't want that, either. So… we found a way._"

Aghast, she tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying.

"You gave him your – how could you even… do you have _any_ idea how _illegal_…" She couldn't even finish a full sentence. "Oh, Ricky… and you left him _alone_…?" Someone could've gotten to him – he was just a child… he'd never even been on a plane before!

"_Don't worry, he's not alone._"

"But…" Still unable to fully understand what her son was saying, Sharon squeezed her eyes shut against the growing anxiety. "I can't believe this… we have to stop him from getting on that plane… he could get arrested, you could _both_ get in trouble!" She began to hurry toward the elevator, not even noticing that Flynn was automatically following her.

"_Mom, it's too late_," Ricky said with a sigh. "_They're probably already in the air by now_."

Sharon gasped at the news, then: "_They_? Ricky –"

"_Look, I know this is a little… crazy_," he admitted, "_but it was the only way to get things done, and we didn't want you hurting, and we _need_ you there for grandpa's funeral… grandma needs you, too. So please, just… trust us, Mom. Everything's fine, Rusty's fine, he'll be there when you get in. And so will the rest of us_."

"Ricky – honey, even if that were possible, I'll never make it in time –"

"_Grandma and Uncle Paul moved the funeral, Mom. To tomorrow. So we could wait for you. So… there you have it._ _Problem solved… please don't be mad at us_."

And before she could even _think_ of how to respond, Ricky excused himself saying that he didn't want to keep talking while he was driving, and he promised he'd see her later that evening, and they ended the conversation, leaving Sharon completely dazed.

"I need to get to the airport," she breathed, hitting the elevator button. "Maybe it's not too late… maybe Rusty didn't get on the flight…" she pressed two fingers between her eyebrows, trying to process everything she'd just heard. "Oh my god…"

"I'll drive," Flynn offered, following her in when the elevator doors opened.

* * *

The rest of the squad had been summarily filled in by Lt. Flynn over a quick phone call, and they waited in the murder room while the Lieutenant and the Captain drove to the airport. The atmosphere wasn't _overly_ nervous, as most of them imagined how this would end, and it was what they had wanted for their boss, and maybe it wasn't happening _quite_ the way anyone had imagined, but at least it was happening…

Maybe.

"If it's not her, it's her _son_," Emma swore under her breath. "I can't believe this. I will have him prosecuted."

Provenza scoffed. "For _what_?"

"Kidnapping a minor! Who also happens to be a _witness_ in a major case!"

The older lieutenant barked a short laugh. "Kid didn't _kidnap_ Rusty, he just gave him a ride to the airport. Which Rusty can very easily confirm he voluntarily asked for, so I wouldn't waste my time trying to make that sort of accusation stick."

"He gave Rusty his plane ticket and documents! That's _illegal_! He facilitated my _underage_ witness flying _out of state_ under a false identity!"

"Uh, no he didn't." Lt. Tao hung up the phone he'd been speaking into. "Just called my contact at LAX…Rusty wasn't on the plane that Ricky was supposed to be on. Their records say Ricky missed that flight, meaning no one used his ticket to get on the plane."

He left it unsaid that his contact had also noted _another_ Raydor's name on the passenger list – who had also missed the flight. Tao had no idea what that even meant, but he certainly did not wish to share with the DDA.

Emma stared. "But… he didn't have his own ticket. He must've flown out _somehow_!" She frowned. "Unless they're lying. If Raydor's trying to sneak Rusty out a different way –"

"Oh, would you try a different tune, Rios," Provenza sighed, "the Captain obviously had nothing to do with this half-baked scheme. She's just playing catch-up. And her dad just died. Give it a rest." He shook his head. "The son's on the road to San Francisco, your witness is in the air to Minnesota… game over. It's out of your hands. Know when to quit."

Her lips pressed together and her nostrils flared… but the truth of the older man's words was undeniable. "This entire affair has been a blatant breach of procedure, _not to mention_ the law," she growled, irritated. "It is _not_ going to end here," she promised darkly, then turned on her heels.

"Wait." Provenza's unusually grave tone stopped her in her tracks, and she turned back to see that the man had stood up from his seat. "Before you storm out of here in rightful indignation, you're going to answer one question for me, and you're going to do it honestly." He paused to let her protest die off, then asked with a piercing gaze: "Do you have the intention to exact some sort of hare-brained retribution by sending a swarm of police after them, to pull the Captain out of her own father's funeral?"

Emma glanced at the rest of the team, who were waiting tensely for her reply.

Her shoulders slumped. "No," she said. There was no point to do _that_, at least.

The old Lieutenant studied her face for a minute and finally seemed to believe her, giving a curt nod. "Good," he grumbled, and headed back over to his desk, the tension of the moment seemingly broken.

Emma could have left, but lingered another second. "Out of curiosity," she asked tiredly, "what were you planning to do if I'd said yes?"

And Provenza gave her a knowing glance. "You already know the answer to that question," he said quietly, and sat back down at his desk, casually rearranging the handcuffs pinned to his belt.

Emma wanted to be outraged, she really did, but today had just stopped being worth it. And honestly, she needed the break from Sharon Raydor as much as the other way around.

* * *

Rusty passed through the airport security, shivering slightly as he held his hands up in the awkward body scanner and wondering if the thing could read his mind and see how many, _many_ reasons those grim-looking guards had to stop him.

But it didn't, and they didn't stop him, and he put his shoes back on and grabbed his backpack and couldn't believe this had actually worked. He must've been breaking a hundred laws.

Well, it wasn't as though this was the first time he'd broken laws… and at least this time it was for a good reason. That thought made him more determined, even though he was once again starting to panic.

He couldn't help it. He was supposed to meet someone here, and they weren't there, and there was no way to contact them and was this all just a big joke on him? Was Emma waiting at the end of the corridor to laugh at him and arrest him for breaking the law? Then she'd have him at her mercy and there wouldn't be anything Sharon could do about it.

He almost turned back, but changed his mind. No, Ricky planned this. He wouldn't be in on it with Emma.

But maybe he just wanted Rusty to get in trouble. He was Sharon's son, _of course_ he'd dislike Rusty, Rusty was an intruder who right now was keeping their mom from being with her family. What if this was all a ploy to get him out of the way, make it look like he'd left on his own, so she could go up to her father's funeral?

Well, then at least she'd get to go, and that would be fine with Rusty. Except she _wouldn't_ just leave...Sharon would look for him. She'd be worried. He almost turned back again. But either way Ricky might be gone, he'd said he couldn't wait around, he'd bought another ticket from San Francisco and he had to drive a few hours to make _that_ flight… But Rusty could still make it back on his own. Make it to school. Or home.

But then Sharon wouldn't be able to go to her father's funeral. There wouldn't be another time for that. She couldn't get that back, ever.

_Who's side are you on, anyway?_

Sharon had told him once that she was on his side.

Well he was on her side, too.

He wasn't turning back.

His legs carried him all the way to the right gate, and he looked around.

* * *

Rusty's eyes had automatically begun searching all the women in the waiting area. Ricky had said he'd 'know Katie when he saw her'. Which in Rusty's opinion was a pretty stupid way to describe someone, because it wasn't like she had her name written on her forehead! (Unless she did. But no, he was pretty sure Sharon wouldn't allow that from any of her kids.)

He looked around some more. There were a couple of older women, two who must have been well above thirty, and he ruled them out. A girl in a bright pink sweatshirt with faded jeans looking like she just stepped out of a 70s music video or something. Definitely not. A young woman with dark hair looking in the window of a newsstand - maybe. But she turned around, and she was older than he'd thought and Asian. Another young woman was sitting in a chair a few yards away, eating a bag of chips; she looked about the right age, and it wasn't like Rusty could look for a family resemblance with her face half-turned away and the bangs covering half of it anyway. He took a step in her direction…

… then he saw her. He'd only missed her because she'd been hidden behind the large magazine shelf. _Of course_ he'd know her when he saw her. Even though her back was mostly to him, she had the same copper straight hair, down to the middle of her back, and even the same kind of suit Sharon always wore. Same straight-shoulder stance. When she turned around, she even had a pair of tiny glasses.

He made a beeline for her. "Hi. Are you Katie?"

The young woman's eyebrows arched, she looked taken aback at the abrupt question. "Excuse me?"

Up close, she looked more different from Sharon, obviously. Same hair, same kind of outfit, but her features were all her own and her eyes were brown. Her voice sounded foreign too, and very, very adult. And a little confused.

"Uhm. I'm Rusty …"

She bit her lips and cocked her head, now a little amused. "Are you?"

Rust was growing more uncomfortable under her scrutiny; his insecurities came rushing back. "Uh, yeah, I think your uhm, brother said we're supposed to meet…?"

She looked intrigued.

"Rusty?"

A different voice came from behind, and he turned.

The girl in the pink sweatshirt was walking (or bouncing) up to them, and she stopped a couple of feet away.

"Sorry, I heard right, didn't I? You're Rusty?" She held out her hand, and had to pull the sleeve up a little because it reached nearly to the tips of her fingers. "I'm Katie."

Rusty's jaw dropped.

* * *

The girl had multi-shaded dirty blonde hair that definitely didn't occur by itself in nature, and it was pinned sorta-halfway-up but so carelessly as though she'd done it while she was still asleep. Her pepto-bismol pink hoodie hurt Rusty's eyes, and her jeans had at least three tiny holes that he could see. She was looking at him with bright blue eyes and he could've put her age anywhere from late teens to early thirties because it was impossible to tell.

She also only had one earring, and it looked kind of like a ladybug mating with a dolphin.

"You're Sharon's daughter."

"Yup. Katie. Like I said."

He still had trouble closing his mouth, and she was looking at him a little curiously.

"… Sharon _Raydor's_ daughter," he repeated doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

She burst into laughter. "Pretty sure." And then she cocked her head, and gave him a smile, and his jaw dropped again because _just like that_, she was looking _exactly_ like Sharon. The way the skin crinkled at the corners of her eyes, the light behind those eyes as they looked at him with a sort of affection that really shouldn't have been there since he was basically a stranger, the line of her nose, her forehead, her smile, _every_thing.

Rusty couldn't stop staring.

Katie sighed at his expression. "Seriously, you don't believe me? How about this," she held up a finger and cleared her throat: "Rusty..."

He gasped audibly; her voice had just become _the same_ as Sharon's, soft and low and… if he hadn't been looking right _at_ this girl he might've thought it was Sharon speaking.

"I _understand_ that you might have some _concerns_, however –" (even the tone was the same!) " –let me _assure_ you that I'm exactly who I say I am. And the only way for this common effort to _succeed_ is if you. trust. me."

He managed to stop gaping long enough to say: "Wow." He was baffled. "How do you _do_ that?"

"It's a mother/daughter thing," she grinned. "I used to get a kick out of confusing grandma when she…called…" Katie trailed off at the inadvertent reminder of why they were meeting in person in the first place.

He grimaced, suddenly uncomfortable, too. "Uh… sorry about, you know… your grandfather."

She sighed. "Thanks." She passed a hand through hair, dislodging even more strands from the barely-there braid, then after a second, looked at him again: "So, do you believe me now or would you like to see five-point identification?"

Rust cleared his throat."No, I'm good." He still couldn't quite stop gawking at her, because in none of his several dozen scenarios had he imagined Sharon's daughter looking anything but a version of – well, Sharon! Or maybe Jack, but this girl in front of him right now looked more like a version of… confetti.

"You know, most people are a little more diplomatic about staring," she deadpanned.

"Right – sorry." He rubbed his neck a little uncomfortably. "Where do you _work_?" He paused."Let me guess. You're an…artist."

Katie laughed again. "I'm a business consultant, of sorts, actually."

And Rusty laughed a little, too, until he realized… "Wait, you're not joking?"

"Nope."

"You're a business consultant."

She nodded.

"Dressed…like that?"

Katie arched an eyebrow. "Who made _you_ the fashion police?" She gave him a no-nonsense narrow-eyed look, but her lips pursed in amusement as she did so, and suddenly she was all Sharon again. "If you must know, I had to get on a plane at six a.m. to make it over here in time, and it wasn't exactly a well-planned trip and I happen to like being comfortable on airplanes." Both eyebrows went up expectantly this time. "Satisfied?"

Rusty nodded slowly, and continued to study her with a curious gaze. "So you're Sharon's daughter."

She nodded, and mirrored: "And you're Sharon's… "

"…charge," Rusty defined a little uncertainly. "For now, at least. Probably not for long…." The last words had been a glum mutter, as his mood plummeted at the thought of everything that must have been going on beyond the airport doors.

Katie gave him a sympathetic gaze. "Look, I don't know a lot about the situation… but you seem like a good kid. I'm sure things will work out."

"I am _not_ a 'good kid'," he grumbled, complete with air commas. "And I'm not a kid."

She bit her lower lip. "In any case, you're doing _this_ for Mom," she waved a hand at their general surroundings, "so you can't be all bad."

Not unless one considered that Rusty was the reason why Sharon couldn't go up to Minnesota in the first place… He sighed. "So how many laws are we breaking right now exactly?"

Katie looked up toward the gate, which had just shifted to 'boarding'. "Actually… on the way over here I realized that this might not be such a good idea. Oh by the way, can I have Ricky's documents? If we get caught, it's better if they don't find them on you."

Wordlessly, Rust handed over the printed out ticket and the driver's license that had gotten him through the ID check point. The phrase 'if we get caught' had chilled his blood, because not only would he be in trouble, but Sharon might too and she'd be so mad and disappointed and…

"I said _'if'_," Katie read his mind, "but we're not _going_ to get caught, because we're not going to board this plane. I don't think Ricky and I were thinking straight last night when we thought this part up."

"Yeah, not that I disagree, but how exactly are we supposed to get to Minnesota, then?" He frowned doubtfully. "I hate to break it to you but I can't fly."

She gave him a dry glance. "I got us another plane."

Rusty's eyebrows flew up. "You 'got us' a _plane_?" He pulled back a little. "When you said 'consultant', did you mean for like, the CIA or something?"

Katie laughed again. "Or something! No, smart-ass… I guess Mom never mentioned Uncle Paul…?"

* * *

By the time Sharon and Andy made it to the airport, she had worked herself up into an ever worse state of panic, and he could barely keep up with her as she rushed to inquire about the status of Ricky's flight; when they found out that it had indeed taken off, her expression had cycled through about a hundred emotions in the span of a few seconds, disappointment, anxiety, disbelief, hope, and confusion and everything in between. There was, of course, no way to check that Rusty was on it, and his phone was still off and her daughter's phone was off and Ricky hadn't had anything new to tell her even though he'd picked up, and finally Andy had to pull her to a side, and give her a serious look:

"Listen, Sharon… you can stay here and wonder all day about how this happened… but the way I see it, there's only one thing to do right now. And you can worry about all this and the consequences… another time."

She looked at him in silence for a moment, eyes wide, and then she conceded with a nod and a shaky sigh.

Andy squeezed her shoulder. "Hold on for a minute." And he walked back up to the airline counter, flashed his badge, and said. "We need a ticket on the next flight out to Minneapolis…or anywhere nearby." He'd seen her disbelieving expression when he'd pulled out the badge, but if this wasn't one of those times that was worth it, nothing was.

It took a few moments for the airline employee to look for flights matching his criteria, but finally she spoke: "There's a two-fifteen flight, that's the soonest I can give you…we have a twelve-ten to Rochester, but it's a one-stop and it'll probably end up taking longer…"

"Two-fifteen is fine," Andy agreed. That left just about three hours, during which Sharon probably wouldn't have time to go home and pack or anything, but she might have time to eat something and unwind a little.

He glanced back at her, waiting a small distance away, arms crossed nervously around her middle, that preoccupied expression in her eyes. And on an impulse, he turned back to the airline employee: "Any chance you have _two_ seats on that plane?"

* * *

**A/N: I can NOT believe it took twelve chapters to get to this point. This story grew a lot more than I'd anticipated! But, here we are, finally ready to move the action to Sharon's parents' house, and meet the rest of her family. Most of the scenes from now on will be from Rusty's perspective, as he discovers her family and background and gets to see Sharon in a totally different context. I'm very excited to get to that, and I hope you guys are, too!  
**

**Thanks so much for reading. Let me know what you think! :) **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Guys, the site is further impairing my already derailed update plans ;). This chapter would've been up last night had it not been for the dreaded '503 Server Unavailable' error! **

**Alright so clearly I'm not going to get to finish posting this story by tomorrow night (OMG TOMORROW NIGHT!), and so my apologies for my false advertising! I did think I could do it, but turns out this story is now 50,000+ words, and more than half of it was written after I thought the story was done. Which just shows what I know! (that is, nothing!). BUT, this is the chapter where we - via Rusty - meet most of Sharon's family, and so I am calling it a partial victory since that was technically the prompt (sigh, I take my wins where I can get them :P)... and I will post the remaining chapters in the afterglow of our lovely show's return ;). (unless they take Rusty away from Sharon in which case I will be crying in a corner for possibly the remainder of the year). **

**Thanks everyone for your kind reviews for last chapter! **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (13)**

Rusty was beginning to lose track of names.

He'd already lost track of places, almost as soon as he and Sharon's daughter had left the departure gate where they'd first met up. She took him through seemingly endless airport corridors and doors that said 'no entrance', between large conveyor belts and wire storage boxes, until she found someone who found someone who drove them, in an awkward airport cart, up to an out-of-the-way auxiliary field. There they'd caught a ride on a small plane that had jolted them enough to make Rusty thankful he'd skipped breakfast, and through the tiny window he'd seen the city from above, he'd seen large boulevards looking flat and narrow, and stretches of concrete and sand, and the ocean and patches of green and brown he couldn't recognize, until he'd decided the sights weren't worth the queasiness, and looked away.

Then there had been another small field where the plane had landed, and when Rusty stepped out it had been _so much colder_ than expected, and there were woody hills around already turning gold and red, and pine trees and goosebumps on his arms, and he'd realized they were definitely not in Kansas anymore.

A 'neighbor' picked them up, an older man who'd looked about a hundred to Rusty, although he was probably just around the age of Sharon's parents, and he drove slowly and spoke slowly and didn't require any conversation from Rusty, which was a huge relief, and the boy lost track of the roads they drove on, forests on both sides with flashes of large houses peeking through the trees every here and there.

He remembered their driver, whom Katie had introduced as 'Mr. Martin', but soon he lost track of other faces, because there were so many. There was the plump, middle-aged woman with black-and-silver hair who'd greeted them when they pulled up in front of the house, and she was somehow related to another neighbor and was helping with the preparations. The man strolling self-importantly across the front porch who'd introduced himself as Father Jameson and given Katie's outfit a critical look that for some reason had made Rusty mad, even though he'd looked at her the same way himself only hours before. The elderly couple who'd left the house just as the two of them were walking up the steps, and the man had patted Katie's head and the woman had tears in her eyes, and they were both neighbors too, apparently, the Reids. And there was another priest and a lawyer and soon it felt as though Rusty had met a dozen people, yet none who were actually related to Sharon.

It was all completely disorienting.

"It's a circus up here," Katie murmured when they'd finally made it past the front door and foyer, and Rusty couldn't disagree.

Once they ventured further in, the house was quieter, though. Quieter and far more imposing than it had looked from the outside (though it had looked plenty imposing from the outside, too), because the lights were dimmed and there wasn't that much sun coming in through the windows, and all the doors were closed, and the faint smell of incense and the vague whispers bouncing off the rich wooden wall panels just gave everything a somber air.

It was a house where someone had just died, and it felt like it.

"Kat," came a low voice, and a woman appeared from one of the little side hallways that ended by the majestic wooden staircase in the lobby.

And Sharon's daughter gave her a hug, and they made a few comforting noises to each other, then Katie turned to introduce Rusty. Her mood had grown subdued after getting to the house, and he couldn't blame her.

"This is our cousin Julianne," she said simply, and Julianne gave him a hug too, which made Rusty feel a little awkward because she looked almost his mom's age, plus he really hoped all of Sharon's family wasn't that huggy because he didn't think he could take that.

"Call me Julie," she told him, and she sounded nice enough. 'Julie' had straight copper hair and freckles and pale blue eyes, and he felt pretty confident he'd be able to remember her, although the rest of the faces were blending together already.

The cousins had talked for about a minute, Julie filling in Katie on how things were going, though the story was hard for Rusty to follow as it was peppered with names and references he didn't get. Then upon meaning to go upstairs and get settled, Katie had realized that she'd left her small suitcase in Mr. Martin's car, and had rushed back outside to catch him before he left, and Rusty had followed her because what _else_ was he supposed to do?

* * *

A white van had taken up most of the gravel road leading up to the house, and a couple of florists were transporting some wreaths across the yard; trying to maneuver around their van, Mr. Martin nearly backed his car right into them, causing them to jump out of the way with startled yelps. Katie ran over to the car before more damage could be done.

" – expect you to do your job _properly_!" Rusty jumped as an angry voice boomed not too far away, and he noticed two men involved in some sort of argument slightly further down the road, where a hearse had pulled up right behind the florists' van. "_This_ is unacceptable incompetence!"

The man shouting had his back to him, so all Rusty could notice was that he was tall, broad-shouldered, with rich white hair and wearing a black coat… which frankly seemed like a great idea since Rusty's arms felt about ready to fall off in his flimsy T-shirt – _where_ was it _that_ cold in September, anyway?!

The other man was young, lanky and looked contrary: "Our records say the order was for today at 3 p.m., and –"

"I _personally_ called and rescheduled for tomorrow, so your records are _wrong_," the white-haired man cut him off. "So fix them, and I need this access road cleared in the next five minutes!"

"Listen, sir, it's not that easy, we're fully booked and if your order was for today, I have an obligation to –"

"Your only _obligation_," the other man growled, "is to stop wasting my time with this and do your job _right_. You'll confirm with your company and fix the records and get me this hearse when I _need_ it, do you understand?"

Rusty cringed; he didn't know who the angry man was, but he certainly didn't wish to be in the hearse driver's shoes. Stunningly, the young man tried to argue one more time, but following another irate reprimand ("–leave now and come back tomorrow _as scheduled_, is. that. _clear_!") he skulked off, properly intimidated. Rusty instinctively took a step back when the white-haired man turned, and another as he noticed the scowl on the man's face, and the way his jaw was clenched beneath his thick mustache. He found it safer to retreat near Katie and Mr. Martin's car, even if the elderly neighbor was likely to accidentally run him over.

"Sorry again, Mr. Martin," Katie apologized quietly as she pulled out her small luggage from the trunk, "here, let me guide you out around the van…"

"There's not enough room, wait until they're gone." To Rusty's alarm, the white-haired man had turned his attention to them, then he scowled at the florists who immediately began to move faster.

He surveyed Katie and Rusty with a stern gaze as he approached the car, his eyes lingering far longer on the boy, until Rusty began to find it uncomfortable and crossed his arms and frowned back warily. He did _not_ like it when people looked at him like that.

The man walked around to the driver-side door of the car. "Thank you for picking them up, Mr. Martin."

"No bother," the old neighbor said affably, "Annie and I weren't going to do anything else today but try to help out… Just let me know if there's anything else you need, you seem to have your hands full here…."

The man's lips thinned in an expression of displeased agreement, but he didn't make a reply.

"Well, it _is_ unusual to move back a funeral at the last minute this way," the priest, whose name Rusty had already forgotten, had strolled over from the front porch, "especially to a Friday. There are bound to be… inconveniences." His tone managed to be disapproving despite the innocuous words.

Katie's eyes moved silently to meet the white-haired man's with a questioning expression, as though she were waiting for his reaction before showing her own.

"We appreciate how accommodating you've been, Father," the man said briefly, "despite the… unexpected circumstances".

Rusty's shoulders tensed instinctively.

"Oh, not at all, not at all," the priest – Father Jameson, Rusty remembered suddenly –waved a dismissive hand. "It is our God-given _duty_ to go to the _greatest_ efforts to provide for the soul of every faithful departed..."

Katie let out an audible sigh, inadvertently drawing the attention of the white-haired man again, and he gave her another once-over. "Change into something else," he told her quietly, then his forbidding gaze swept over Rusty again, and the boy tensed further, but luckily the man made no remark. "Find me if there's anything more you need," he told Katie, and he marched off.

"That was Uncle Paul," Sharon's daughter said a moment later, when they were alone again, and Rusty sighed.

"Yeah, I figured." The retired Air Force General. The one who'd gotten them their plane and moved the funeral, and who was obviously not happy to have had to go to all the extra effort. And if he was so curt with _Katie_, who was his niece and had zero fault in anything, Rusty couldn't even imagine how the man felt about _him_.

On the bright side, at least not everyone in Sharon's family was going to give him uncomfortable hugs.

* * *

"It's the one right at the end of the hall." Katie was keeping her voice lower, now that they were back inside the house; she'd taken him upstairs, and they were walking down a hallway with a couple of doors on each side. "You can share with Ricky, I guess, there's an extra bed in here… Mom and I will share her old room."

Rusty froze. "_What_...?"

Sharing a room with a stranger, _at night_, even Sharon's son, even if they _had_ already met, and spent a few hours together, and okay they _were_ technically partners in crime in the eyes of the law … even so, he was definitely not comfortable with that plan.

"What?" Katie looked back from the bedroom doorway with a slightly confused expression. "Oh… er…"

Rusty could tell she wasn't quite sure what to make of his reaction, and he wanted, he _really_ wanted to tell her 'never mind' and move on, but the words wouldn't dislodge from his throat because the very _thought_ of falling asleep in a closed room with some man he barely knew was making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Katie's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Well, Aunt Steffi is sharing her old room with Julie, and Uncle Peter's in the guest bedroom… I guess we could find an air mattress and put it in grandpa's office… or… Ricky can stay at Uncle Paul's…"

"No!" Rusty was horrified at the prospect of making one of Sharon's kids have to go elsewhere, not after _everything_ else. "It's fine. No problem. This room's great, perfect, no worries."

He didn't care if he had to stay awake for three nights. He could do that. They had coffee in Minnesota, didn't they?

* * *

"Listen, Rusty," Katie had said after settling him in, having dropped a pile of sheets and blankets on the twin bed and gotten him an oversized jacket from a closet (it really was very cold) and shown him the bathroom down the hall. "This might get a little…crowded. Everyone loved grandpa and… Mom loved him _a lot_… and… it's just going to be a little… well, hard. For everyone." She'd been perched at the end of the bed and giving him that understanding, Sharon-like look, and he'd stuck his hands in his pockets and listened, even though he could've stopped her any time because he knew exactly what she was getting at. "So just… let Ricky or me know if you need anything, okay?"

'And otherwise, stay out of the way', was the unspoken end to that, and Rusty got it and he didn't mind at all because really the last thing he wanted was to be wandering around a house full of strangers.

Not to mention that the house itself was a labyrinth, too. Maybe it had been fine and appropriately sized when they had three kids and two grandparents living there, but Rusty wasn't sure how Sharon's parents could have managed it by themselves as an elderly couple, or why they'd wanted to... The upstairs floor was fairly easy to navigate, because it split into two hallways, one on either side of the large staircase, and as far as he could tell each hallway had a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom (he was having _a little_ trouble keeping it straight which bedroom he was supposed to be in, but it didn't seem _too_ confusing). There may also have been some closets and a terrace of some sort, although he wasn't too sure which doors were which.

The _downstairs_, however, really was a complete maze. There was a foyer and a lobby and a parlor (some of those may have been the same but Rusty didn't know for sure), and an open living room area which was connected to a dining room, and there was a kitchen connected to _that_ somehow. And _then_ there were the two hallways which were kind of parallel to the upstairs ones only not really, and there was an office somewhere that had belonged to Sharon's dad, and then there was a bathroom or two, and a door that led to the basement and then there was a door that Katie had warned him away from, just to the left side of the staircase.

"That's where grandpa is," she'd said quietly, and Rusty had etched _that_ one in his memory because he definitely didn't want to end up in there by accident.

In short, he had firmly decided not to open any closed doors in the entire house, because he had no idea what was what.

Katie had shown him to the kitchenette at the far end of the house (which despite being a perfectly reasonable size and equipped with fridge, sink, table and counters, apparently wasn't the same as the _kitchen_), and they'd scavenged some ingredients from the fridge and shared a quick snack. Then she'd taken him back upstairs, and he'd been very grateful because he definitely wouldn't have been able to retrace the path without a map and a compass.

And then she'd diplomatically asked him to keep out of their hair, and she'd gone downstairs to help whichever way she could, and he'd been more than happy to follow her advice and hole up in the bedroom, close the door and try to process everything, because his head was fairly spinning.

That he was feeling out of his element would have been an understatement.

That he was feeling as though someone had yanked him out of bed in the middle of the night and dropped him from a helicopter in the middle of ocean would have also been an understatement.

He was so far out of his comfort zone, that he couldn't even _see_ his comfort zone from here. It was in a different galaxy. A long, long time ago.

Basically, he was flipping out.

Those woods he'd seen on the drive up seemed like a pretty great place to be right about now.

Rusty groaned, and for the fiftieth time after arriving at the house, silently wished for Sharon to be there. And for the fiftieth time he immediately delivered himself a swift mental kick, because even when she _did_ get there, he knew she wasn't coming to make _him_ comfortable.

But even just knowing that she was somewhere in the house would've helped.

* * *

With the afternoon stretching on endlessly, and his heart rate refusing to go below one-fifty, Rusty found himself taking a mental inventory of whom he'd met so far in Sharon's family, as a way to keep his mind busy… and to make sure that, should he have to ever face them again (he was hoping not), he'd at least get most of their names straight.

He'd probably gotten her kids down right, and he was pretty sure it was just those two and after a night spent scheming with Ricky and the shakiest (and so far, only) flight of his life with Katie he was pretty sure he wasn't going to forget either of them anytime soon.

Cousin Julia – Julianne – _Julie_ was the one with all the hugging and she was very nice and all, but he was going to aim to stay at least a couple of arms' lengths away. She was the daughter of Sharon's sister Stephanie.

He'd met _her_, too, when he and Katie were getting their snacks, and frankly between Stephanie and her mother, Rusty was really starting to wonder whether Sharon may have been adopted because there was absolutely zero family resemblance there. Not that it was any of his business, or anything. But seriously.

Stephanie was apparently a couple of years younger? Although she looked a little older than Sharon, but that may have been because she didn't wear make-up or dye her hair … It was grey and cut short, just above her ears, and she was lithe and petite and moved with a feverish, youthful sort of energy that Rusty found a little confusing in someone over the age of fifty. (He imagined Sharon may have had a wry look for him over _that_ particular opinion.)

Her face was a little leathery and tan and it looked like she'd spent a lot of time in the sun in her life, and her eyes were icy blue, nothing like Sharon's. But she kept a casually friendly tone when she spoke to him and Katie, and beyond a couple of curious looks didn't pay all that much attention to him at all, so she was fine in his book.

_Not_ so fine was 'Uncle Paul', the ex-General, whom Rusty had yet to see without the scowl on his face; from the bedroom window he could occasionally hear the man's terse comments as he directed various things and people around. He did _not_ sound pleased, and he was harsh with his orders and abrupt in his gestures and he'd even snapped at his sister when Stephanie had interfered with some logistic arrangements by moving a driveway sign about three feet to the left. Which had apparently been a terrible thing to do in Paul's eyes, and even though _she_ hadn't seemed to find his bark that scary and had only rolled her eyes and protested vocally, Rusty had made an extra mental note to stay out of the man's way.

There had been mentions of other people, Uncle Peter and Uncle Marcus and someone named Jamie and an Aunt Mary-Anne who may have possibly been Paul's wife (Rusty felt bad for her already), but he hadn't met any of them and that was really fine with him.

And then there was Sharon's mom…

Sharon's mom was scary.

Rusty hadn't met her. But he'd _seen_ her, coming out of _the room_ just when he'd finished going up the staircase, and she was old and frail and small but there was a slightly creepy air about her, although maybe it was just the fact that she was surrounded so heavily by the sense of death, with her all-black outfit and flanked by two equally grim-looking older ladies. She'd been silent, and moved slowly, and he'd quickly retreated down the hallway after Katie, because honestly he'd been pretty terrified of having to face her.

The sight of her and her companions had reminded him again why the house was so sinister, and everyone was wearing black and they'd all speak in grave whispers and somberly drift around the barely-lit corridors, and he just couldn't _imagine_ Sharon in that context. He didn't even _want_ to… it was stupid, he knew, but he was genuinely worried about what she'd be like and would she still be _her_, or would she be as scary as the rest of them and…

… this had all seemed a lot less frightening from a distance, but here, in the reality of it, it was all terribly sobering and Rusty was almost as afraid of what would happen when Sharon got here as he was of being here alone.

* * *

Ricky arrived shortly after five, and he dropped by the room to drop off the same duffel bag he'd had at Sharon's apartment, and he said hello and couldn't help gloating a little about the success of their plan, although his mood, too, was much more subdued.

He did ask Rusty if he was okay, and reiterated Katie's offer to let either of them know if he needed anything, and he also reiterated her subtle encouragement to try to stay out of the way, only in Ricky's case it was less subtle and more awkward. And totally unnecessary anyway, because Rusty had no intentions of coming out of the room at all, even he had to starve to death.

Which he may have hinted at to Ricky, at which point Sharon's son had looked a little concerned and assured him that he should definitely not take it quite that far. Not least of all because their mom was likely to be displeased at that turn of events, and _that_ of course had set Rusty worrying all over again about what would happen when Sharon got there, and what she'd be like and how he should act, and at some point Ricky had just decided to let him stew in peace and left the room with the promise of coming back to get him for dinner.

Rusty told him not to worry about it.

He lay down on the bed, on that foreign bed in that foreign room in a state thousands of miles away, and couldn't quite believe he'd made it there, after all. And though he was terrified in so many, many ways, there was a small part of him that breathed easy knowing that at the very least, Emma and her schemes and the whole letters nightmare were too far away to reach him. In that small bedroom in a mansion in the woods in Minnesota, surrounded by strangers, in that small way, for a little while, he was safe.

* * *

He heard a car pull up on the gravelly road a little after seven and he _knew_ it was her.

A weird sort of anxiety quelled in his stomach, and he couldn't keep himself away from the window, although it felt a little wrong to be creepily peeking out like that.

The car that had pulled up looked like an airport rental, but he couldn't see who was in it, although it was a man's hands on the wheel, but that didn't mean anything because anyone could've picked her up or she could've hired a driver or …

And then the passenger side door opened and even in the dimming evening light he recognized her before she'd even fully stepped out, by the way her hand gripped the top of the door and how her body moved, and again that pang of _something_ went through Rusty's stomach, and he felt both incredibly relieved and incredibly anxious at the same time. It was all very unsettling.

Sharon hesitated a second too long before letting go of the door, and he could tell from her movements that she was still exhausted, because _of course_ the last three days hadn't just been magically erased. But at least she was _here_, and she'd be able to be with her family, and say goodbye to her father, and he had to hope that would least help a little bit.

A large dog bounded up to her out of the blue and let out a single loud bark, and she backed heavily into the side of the car, startled, and he suddenly felt unaccountably angry at that stupid dog, and its stupid owner who hadn't locked him up or something. A woman he hadn't met yet showed up a second later, yelled "Pilot, no!" and scolded the dog and dragged him away, knocking over two temporary driveway signs in the process and apologizing with wide gestures to Sharon, who just waved a reassuring hand.

Then Julie rounded the corner from behind the house and saw Sharon and hurried up to her, and (of course) gave her a long hug, which in Rusty's opinion lasted a little _too_ long, because _how_ was Julie not noticing that it was _freezing_ out and Sharon was only wearing one of her flimsy suit jackets! And _unbelievably_, even after she let go and Sharon's arms automatically crossed and she started absently rubbing her forearms with her hands, Julie _still_ kept talking. The house was _right there_, a dozen yards away!

He was seriously debating whether it may not have been worth it to venture outside (assuming he'd manage to find the front door) and personally suggest moving the conversation to a place where Sharon maybe _wouldn't_ freeze to death, when he noticed something even more alarming in the form of 'Uncle Paul' marching up from the end of the gravel road – and why, _why_ had Julie picked _this_ moment to randomly take off in another direction?

Sharon half turned, presumably having heard her brother approach, and Rusty couldn't see _her_ face but suddenly Paul adopted the same dark scowl from earlier, which should've really been no surprise; he stared at her and she just stood there, arms wrapped tight around herself as the chilly wind blew her hair back, and somewhere deep inside Rusty was still hoping that the man would just suddenly smile and be nice and give her a hug and it would all be well.

He didn't.

But so quickly that Rusty didn't even see it happen he took off his coat, and as he draped it around Sharon's shoulders like a blanket and pulled it tight against her, Rusty could tell that she let her body move forward with his motion until her head was resting against his cheek, and they only stayed like that for a few seconds, but it was enough. Paul yanked the edges of the coat again to make it even tighter against the wind, and Sharon stepped back slightly to keep her balance, and when she looked up at her brother, just like that, Rusty saw the man's scowl in a whole new light.

Then she turned toward the driver of the car, and for the first time so did Rusty's attention, and the boy's jaw dropped when he recognized Lieutenant Flynn. He had to check again to make sure, but yes, there he was in the flesh, and Rusty didn't even care how or why, because there was another familiar face and that was definitely A Good Thing.

Sharon's brother led her around the car and the two men shook hands and then Paul waved his hands in a way that Rusty was pretty sure was meant to be directing Lt. Flynn where to park, and sure enough the Lieutenant got back in the car and slowly drove in the indicated direction, and finally, _finally_ Sharon and her brother walked up the steps and went inside the house.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter we'll be seeing Sharon interact with other family members, most notably her daughter and her mother, and we'll follow her and Rusty through most of Friday's events.  
**

**Also, OMG we are literally less than 24 hours away from the mid-season premiere and I'm not sure my heart can take it anymore. **

**Thank you for reading, and you know I love your reviews more than Emma loves winning her cases ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your reviews! Sorry about the week-long break, I was away and internet-less for most of it. But, back to regular updating times now! I'd say this story has about another three or so chapters left - although as you know, it has occasionally grown out of the blue, so that's a rough estimate. But we're definitely on the last stretch here. **

**Also... THE SHOW IS BACK OMG GUYS! I am still processing all the feelings from last week's episode (! ! !), and now there's a new episode tonight and I'm just not sure my heart can take it all. And the flood of *amazing* episode tags being shared on this site post-episode-12 is just making it all the more thrilling and wonderful.  
**

**Alright enough ranting, back to the story. This chapter comes with a warning, as it contains a pretty sad and slightly graphic scene, so please be aware in advance. **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family**

Rusty hadn't meant to leave the room at all, but when he'd seen Sharon walking up the front steps to the house, suddenly, going downstairs to greet her had seemed the most natural idea in the world. There had been only the slightest hesitation, halting his steps halfway between the window sill and the door, because Sharon _must_ have been pretty mad about the way he'd just taken off… But he'd much rather have her angry at him here, than giving him that painfully effortful smile back home, and while he was sorry to have made her worry, he wasn't sorry about what he'd done, and he wasn't going to hide away from it. Or from her.

He left the bedroom, and walking down the hallway he could hear hushed murmurs from downstairs, and when he reached the little landing right by the top step he _saw_ her, still wearing her brother's too-large black coat wrapped around her shoulders, and he hoped she'd turn in his direction so he could greet her…

"_Mom_!"

Rusty and Sharon both looked to the source of the muted cry, and there was Katie coming from around the staircase, and she ran up to her mother and wrapped her arms tight around the woman, and Rusty noticed she was standing on tiptoes to get a better hold.

She held on for a few seconds, then relaxed her grip just enough to step back and look up at Sharon, and she whimpered, "Oh my god, mom…", and her hands cupped both sides of Sharon's face, fingers trailing gently down the older woman's temples, and then she rose on tiptoes again and her arms went around her mother's neck and she pulled Sharon into another hug.

Rusty hesitantly took a step back.

He could wait to greet Sharon. He really could.

* * *

"I love you," Katie murmured into her mother's hair, and she felt the woman's arms squeeze a little tighter in response, and it was so reassuring because the weariness and anguish she'd seen in Sharon's eyes had almost made her cry. "I'm so glad you're here," and she had to say it again like a mantra, "I'm _so_ glad you're here… I'm so sorry…"

And she could feel her mother's hands caressing her hair, and Sharon pulled back a little to look into her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I love you, mommy," Katie said again, using a diminutive she had barely ever used in years, and Sharon's lips trembled a little.

"I love you too, sweetheart," she murmured back, passing another hand through her daughter's hair and pushing back some of the errant strands. "Are you okay?"

And Katie sighed a little. "_Yes_. I'm fine, Mom…" She couldn't help mirroring her mother's gesture, pushing back a strand of hair from Sharon's temple, and she had to frown at the worry lines and the tension she felt just beneath the skin. "I'm… really glad you're here."

Sharon squeezed her hand in a silent reply. "How's grandma? Where is she?"

"Upstairs," said Katie, "Aunt Steffi and Mrs. Annie are with her. Oh…Uncle Paul," she turned to the man, but kept one hand around Sharon's waist, their shoulders touching, "Mrs. Annie wanted to know if you'd mind driving her back in a little while… she sent Mr. Martin home, he doesn't see well enough to drive at night anyway…"

Sharon's brother nodded. "I'll go pull up the car." He made a little hand motion at Sharon, as though asking for her permission for something, and she was a little confused until she realized she was still wearing his coat.

"Oh – of course," she shrugged it off her shoulders and held it back to him. "Thank you." He squeezed her fingers briefly when he took it back, then slipped it on and walked out of the house without further comment.

"Mom, let's go upstairs to your room," Katie pleaded. "You can find something to change into, and I'll get you some food…"

"What – no, honey, wait," Sharon resisted when her daughter tried to gently pull her up the stairs, and her expression was suddenly concerned, serious. "Katie, _where_ are your brother, and _Rusty_…? Did they –"

"They're fine," the young woman hurried to confirm, "they're here, they made it alright, _they're_ fine, _everything's_ fine, mom, okay? Rusty's upstairs in Uncle Paul's room, and Ricky's… I don't know, helping Julie with dinner, or something…" In fact, she recalled suddenly, he was sorting through a variety of dishes dropped over by well-meaning neighbors. "But they're okay… everything's okay…"

A shadow crossed her mother's face, and Katie realized that, of course_,_ everything was _not_ okay.

Sharon's eyes automatically turned to the door to the left side of the staircase.

"Is that…" she swallowed hard, and had to take a breath. When she spoke, it was in a very low, measured tone. "Is that where grandpa is?"

Katie nodded silently, but tugged on her mother's hand when the older woman instinctively tried to take a step toward the room. "Mom don't go in there…" she sighed, "Not yet. Please." She looked up entreatingly. "Please wait a little bit. You just got here."

"It's fine, honey…"

"No, no it's _not_ fine," unexpectedly Katie found herself close to tears, because her mother was looking so stressed, so terribly exhausted, and _still_ she was just going to be stubborn about everything and Katie _hated_ feeling so powerless, and… "just… wait a _little_ while, Mom, for once, just please, _please_ –"

"Okay," Sharon pulled her close with a comforting noise, and Katie sniffled against her suit jacket, a little embarrassed, "okay honey, alright, I'll wait, I'm sorry…"

And Katie just felt _worse_ because here her mom was comforting _her_, and this was so not how it was supposed to happen, and she sniffled again and took a deep breath, letting her mother's familiar perfume and the warmth of her arms wash over her, until the unexpected rush of anxiety subsided and she could let out a little sigh. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Sharon said soothingly. "I know how much you loved grandpa…"

Katie just sighed again, because this wasn't _about _grandpa… or maybe it was about grandpa _too_, who knew? At the moment all she wanted was to make sure her _mother_ was okay, because her appearance was freaking Katie out, and the funeral was tomorrow and there would be so much to do and so much to handle and she was _already_ worried about grandma…

"Why don't we go get a glass of water, honey," Sharon suggested, and Katie didn't miss the fact that this was a temporary reprieve at best, but there just wasn't anything else she could say and further protests weren't going to make either of them any less stressed.

* * *

Rusty backtracked doubtfully toward the bedroom.

However unwitting, overhearing Sharon's brief conversation with her daughter had felt intrusive. Thinking about it any further felt wrong. It definitely hadn't been meant for his ears, and he'd caused enough troubles lately without adding eavesdropping to his long list of trespassings.

He was at a loss again. He _wanted_ to go back to the room and be good, but he also wanted to go downstairs and be with Sharon, and hopelessly torn between the two he did neither, but instead hesitated too long in the hallway, his mind guiltily trying to come up with a valid reason to seek her out. But there _was_ no reason, because this wasn't about _him_, and Sharon wasn't there for _him_, and no matter how Rusty looked at it, inserting himself into her time _now_ was all sorts of inappropriate.

So he walked back into the room and dropped down on one of the beds with a long sigh.

Sharon knew where he was, Katie had told her as much. At least she'd know exactly where to come if she wanted to see him.

He hoped she would, if only to ease the heavy knot in his stomach that was part worry, part guilt, part fear, and a variety of other parts he couldn't even identify.

Like never before, over the past few days Rusty had become acutely aware of how he'd complicated Sharon's life. He'd never thought about it much after coming to live with her; his own life had just kept throwing one curve ball after another, whereas _hers_ was so put-together and _good_ that it had always seemed ludicrous to even make the comparison…

…until he'd watched her face her own tragedy, and watched it made a million times worse by his presence in her life.

So yes, he hoped she would, but he couldn't blame her if she _didn't_ want to see him.

It was true that not once had she ever spoken a word or made a gesture of recrimination. Not in the early days, not even when they fought, and not in the last, _terrible_ week, not after the letters nightmare on Friday, or after Emma's awful repercussions, not after the sleepless nights and the anguish-filled days, not _once_ in that whole time had Sharon turned to accuse him. She _must_'ve known what he was costing her, a lot earlier than he did, and _still_ she'd stuck it out, and he had no idea why...

_Whatever happens…_

Rusty wrapped his arms tight around himself and let his chin fall to his chest.

This wasn't something he wanted to deal with, and somehow it was painful to think about. She'd said 'whatever' – but then so much _had_ happened, and Rusty wasn't sure that Sharon hadn't changed her mind, and he couldn't fault her if she had because 'whatever happens' was a lot to ask for.

And he _hadn't_ asked for it, and he had no clue what to even do with it, he wasn't even sure he _wanted_ it except he was suddenly terrified of losing it.

The knot in his stomach twisted further.

And still he had no idea whether to go look for Sharon, or wait for her to find him when she wanted to, and in the midst of her family's loss he was torn because he wanted to do _something_ for her, but he didn't know what she needed… And when he _would_ eventually see her again, he had no idea what to even _tell_ her, because where would he even start…?

* * *

When there was a knock on his half-open door a few minutes later, Rusty couldn't entirely help the half-anxious, half-eager expression as he looked up. He schooled it instantly at the sight of Lieutenant Flynn in the doorway, however, and the man diplomatically pretended he hadn't seen it.

"Hey, kid." Lt. Flynn nodded a brief greeting. "Can I come in?"

"Uh – yeah. Hi." Rusty stood, retreating a couple of steps toward the window sill, hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets and adopted a look that was somewhere between cautious and curious. Truth be told, he was thrilled to see a familiar face at last, but even so the lieutenant's presence was a little unexpected.

"How are you holding up?"

The quiet question took him by surprise, and Rusty shrugged. "Fine," then, before he could stop himself: "How's Sharon?"

It was Flynn's turn to give a vague sort of shrug, his expression turning graver. "She's downstairs, I think," he said finally, "talking to…some… family friend." It had taken him a second to retrieve the connection, and Rusty could sympathize, because he'd been trying to keep names, faces and relations straight in his head all afternoon.

The man's reply, however, hadn't satisfied him. "And…?"

Flynn arched his eyebrows a little wryly. "And what?"

"_And_, like, how _is_ she? Is she okay? Is she m –" He cut himself off before finishing 'mad', but the lieutenant intuited his meaning anyway.

"…pissed at you for running off like an idiot?" Flynn's eyebrows rose even higher, and he gave the boy a knowing glance; when Rusty crossed his arms a little defensively, the older man shook his head. "Look, kid, I get it. And I'm not gonna tell you what you did was wrong – but it was stupid. And I think you're smart enough to know why."

He was, and he did, and again Rusty gave a very teenage sullen shrug, his hands going all the way in his pockets this time.

"No point worrying about it now, though," Lt. Flynn pointed out. "What's done is done. And the rest…you're just gonna have to deal with it as it comes, and work it out with the Captain."

The boy wasn't so sure they _could_ work it out; in running off, he'd done the _one_ thing that he and Sharon had always silently agreed he'd never, ever do. But there was nothing that Lt. Flynn could change about that, and anyway before either of them could add anything else, the sound of footsteps came up the hallway and the door opened all the way again.

Ricky walked in, doing a slight double take at the sight of the new guest – which even Rusty had to admit was warranted, because he still hadn't figured out himself what the lieutenant was doing there.

Then Ricky arched his eyebrows, and said: "Lieutenant… Flint!" And Rusty rolled his eyes and gave him a disbelieving look. Names _really_ weren't Ricky's thing, obviously.

To his credit, Sharon's son winced in embarrassment as he guessed the meaning of the boy's look, and he shot the lieutenant an apologetic glance.

"Flynn," the older man corrected good-naturedly, and they exchanged a polite greeting and an agonizing minute of awkward small talk that impressed upon Rusty once again just how completely separate Sharon's work and family life were. Clearly people on the two sides never expected to talk to each other, and there was no conversation topic broad enough to bridge the great divide.

Which was fine for everyone else, because they knew exactly which side of her life they were on, and didn't need to worry about navigating it all – but for Rusty, the lines and boundaries were constantly blurring, with so many unknowns and complications, and he just didn't know _where_ he stood anymore. The past week had really driven the point home: his place in Sharon's life was precarious and undefined. It seemed like he didn't really belong on _either_ side.

" – thought maybe Mom and Katie had come up," Ricky's words broke into his thoughts, an almost welcome reprieve, "but they don't seem to be around. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation."

"Don't worry about it," Lt. Flynn waved a dismissive hand, "I'd just come up to say hello. Make sure you two made it over alright…"

Unlike Rusty, Ricky didn't _look_ like he was feeling too guilty, although he did grimace at the reminder of their off-the-cuff departure. "Yeah. That's kind of why I was looking for Mom, too. Guess she and Katie might've gone over to Uncle Paul's…" He sounded a little doubtful, and for good reason.

"I think they're in the…kitchen," Rusty put in, although as he spoke he realized he wasn't too sure _where_ one 'got a glass of water' in the large house. The place was a maze. No wonder Ricky couldn't find them.

"Oh – okay, thanks," Sharon's son nodded, "I guess I'll… go look there, then. Sorry again for barging in."

Lt. Flynn waved off the apology again, while Rusty gave another shrug: "It's your room," he muttered.

"Technically, it's Uncle Paul's," Ricky joked, "even if it's been, like, forty years, he's pretty clear on –"

But he never got to finish his sentence, as someone else appeared in the doorway and interrupted him.

"Oh." Katie, too, looked a little startled at the small gathering in the bedroom. "Uhm, hi…" Her eyes studied Lt. Flynn for a moment, a little confused, before she turned to her brother.

She looked stressed, her brow furrowed and her gaze sober and her lips pressed together ever so slightly, an expression that Rusty had seen all too often lately, and immediately he wondered what was wrong and what made Katie look this frazzled and if it was Sharon and –

"Where's Mom?" Ricky must have been thinking along similar lines, and Katie's expression turned even more strained. Her eyes flashed to Lt. Flynn again for the briefest moment, a little unsure, and the man immediately took the unwitting hint.

"If you don't mind, I was about to go downstairs and get a glass of water," he said diplomatically. He didn't quite understand the grimace that crossed Katie's face, but he didn't question it, turning instead to Rusty. "Do you think you can show me where the kitchen is?"

In fact, the boy did mind, because he wanted to hear Katie's reply, but Flynn's expression was meaningful enough that he didn't argue. "I can _try_..." he grumbled, and part of that was him being a little resentful at the lieutenant's suggestion, but part of it was also the truth, because he wasn't entirely sure that he _could_ locate any room in the house with precision.

Still, it was enough for Lt. Flynn, who excused himself and preceded him out of the room, and Rusty stalled as much as he could, enough to hear Ricky repeat his question in a quieter tone, and to hear Katie reply:

"She went in to… see... grandpa."

And he couldn't say he was surprised, not after Sharon's earlier conversation with her daughter, but he could definitely understand why Katie sounded so troubled. His own shoulders tensed as he reluctantly walked away.

Briefly, he'd thought the worst of it was over when he and Sharon had finally made it to her parents' house… but of course, out of everything that had happened in the past few days, one thing above all was permanent and irreversible, and _that _was why they were here in the first place, and even with her family to support her, Sharon still had to deal with it.

And if the only thing he could do for her was stay out of her way, then Rusty was determined that that was what he'd do, even if it did make him feel terribly out of place and unwanted.

* * *

Sharon had stepped inside the room with forced determination and closed the door behind her before she could change her mind.

The first thing that struck her was the strong smell of incense, and that the room was so much colder than anywhere else in the house. The window on the right wall was open, rattling loudly from the wind outside, but there must have been some sort of refrigeration system at work, too, because the air felt nearly freezing. The second her hand left the door handle she couldn't suppress a racking shiver.

She walked across the room with heavy steps, her eyes slowly, hesitantly moving to finally look at the long table near the far wall. A coffin rested on it, and her first thought was that her father didn't look like he was sleeping.

She couldn't understand _what_ he looked like, even though she'd seen so many dead bodies in her life, but nothing, none of it had prepared her for this. The light in the room was dim and copper from several candles and a small lamp, and it cast eerie shadows on his skin, and unwillingly her mind flashed back to all the other bodies – _people_. It didn't make sense that this, here, was the same thing, because it just couldn't be.

There was a chair right near the head of the table, and Sharon was grateful for it because she didn't think her legs could support her anymore. Dropping heavily into the chair, she felt her gaze drawn back to her father's face, even though she wanted to look away. Icy cold spread through her veins at the thought that this was it…

_I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Please… _

But there was nothing to say, nothing to pray for, nothing to _do_. An odd sort of numbness began to slowly take over, and she couldn't breathe properly, with the smell of the wax candles and the incense and just the _whole_ of it assaulting her senses, and her breaths had somehow become shallow pants, and she acutely felt that she was not getting enough air…

Sharon knew to calm herself because the edges of her vision were starting to grow fuzzy, and she willed her eyes to move away from her father's face, to the sleeves of his suit, the tips of his fingers, the buttons, the little handkerchief in the breast pocket. Slowly the numbness began to recede, and her breath came out in soft, just audible gasps. Her body still felt heavy and so, so cold.

Out of nowhere a fly landed on her father's left hand and Sharon choked on a sob. She wanted to wave a hand at it, but couldn't move; she had to grip the edge of the table with one hand just to keep sitting upright in the chair.

_Oh God, Dad… Dad… Dad, please…_

But she knew better than this. She knew she had to accept it even though her entire body was racked by shudders at the thought. She looked at his face again, eyes closed, his skin looking so different, almost like a mask, and again she thought of how she'd seen _so many_ dead bodies…

She could barely reach out to touch him, but she made herself do it, even if it was just a light touch on the sleeve of his jacket. Then she followed by brushing a hand through his hair. And then she lay her badly shaking fingers atop his hand, and she was expecting it to be cold but it wasn't, it was just… foreign, _there_, and Sharon let her hand rest over it for as long as she could, then she trailed down the edges of his jacket, straightening a non-existent wrinkle, and she looked at him again and nearly doubled over in a stunning stab of physical pain. She didn't want to let go, ever; she gripped his hand through the sleeve, just above his wrist, her fingers clenched.

_Dad. Dad… _

But she couldn't, whatever closure she was looking for she _wasn't_ going to get it, because there was no closure for this. And suddenly she wasn't afraid to touch him anymore, and she leaned over and lowered her forehead to his, eyes closed, not breathing, her hand touching cold fingers to his cold cheek.

With an effort she pulled herself up, and she looked at her father again, and she never, never wanted to let go because the second she did, the second she left, she'd be saying goodbye forever, and she just couldn't do that, she _couldn't_.

A slight creak and a sudden sliver of brighter light let her known that the door had opened, and Sharon looked back even though one hand was still resting on her father's suit jacket. Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over at the sight of her brother, and she watched him walk across the room to her with slow steps, until he was close to her chair and she turned her head away, her body angling back toward their father.

"It's late, Sharon." Paul whispered so softly, in his gruff voice, and all she could do was shake her head.

_Please, please don't make me go. _

"Dad… " He sighed. "Dad'll be here tomorrow morning."

But no, she knew that this was it, and she was so unreasonable angry at Paul because he was trying to make her leave when she just couldn't. And when her brother closed the remaining distance between them with one last step, and put his hand on her shoulder, she turned her head away even more, then lowered it above her joined hands, above their father's body.

Crouching slightly, Paul moved his hand to her forearm and put the other around her shoulder, and he pulled just slightly and she pulled back, stubbornly, and then his voice was coming out in that gentle rumble again. "Come on, Sharon."

"I can't…. Paul, I _can't_…" Her whisper was barely audible to her own ears; she wasn't crying, but she could barely speak. Her eyes looked desperately at her father's face, and she couldn't pull away, because this was the last time she could ever see him and she couldn't say goodbye, not now, not like this, not when there was _so much_…

Paul kissed the top of her hair. "Let's go, Shar. There's nothing more we can do."

Sharon let her breath leave her with a long, muted gasp, and she stopped pulling back and let him turn her away, but when she stood up she turned back. Her brother was keeping his grip on one of her arms, but with the other she reached over to caress their father's cheek one more time, to straighten his jacket, and again she felt that stab of pain through her stomach strong enough to double her over. But she just clenched Paul's arm with trembling fingers, and with her other hand trailed down her father's temple, his cheek, his jaw, and finally she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Then with great effort she willed herself to turn away, and when the two of them had walked almost all the way to the door, she let go of her brother and looked back one last time, and the sudden urge to rush back was so strong that it constricted her chest, and it took all her willpower to grip the door handle, open the door and step out into the hallway.

* * *

Paul had turned back to figure out a way to secure the open window against the wind, and Sharon had waved him off with a reassurance that she'd be fine on her own, but the truth was that walking back into the lobby she found the task of climbing the staircase too daunting. Silently, she checked the hallways to the left and right, and glanced over to make sure there was no one in the parlor or living room, and when she was satisfied that she'd get a few moments of privacy, she sat down on one of the bottom steps and leaned heavily against the lacquered banister posts.

Her daughter had been right to tell her to wait, Sharon knew. But then there _was_ no time left to wait, because she'd already been so late… _too_ late. With a shaky breath, she forced that train of thought away, because she wasn't all that far from the room that held her father, and the need to go back and do _something_ was still fighting its way to the surface.

She still couldn't understand how she could be so powerless in this. Oh she _knew_ how, of course, and she'd been well aware for years that something like this would happen eventually, but she simply couldn't _understand_ how to sit back and take it, or _why_.

…_because our fate is not always in our own hands…_

A flash of intense anger accompanied the unbidden memory, because the last thing she wanted was to be living the words that some maniac had written in those threat letters.

Another shiver ran down her spine, and she couldn't tell anymore if it was the colder weather, or her own dread, or exhaustion or…whatever. She didn't even know how late it was, having completely lost track of time.

And she hadn't seen her mother yet, or greeted Ricky or tracked down Rusty and she'd _meant_ to do all of it, but then she hadn't been able to stop herself from going in to see her father, and she had no idea how long she'd been in there, and now the simple act of walking up the stairs seemed more than she wanted to handle…

But she couldn't put any of it off any longer, and it wasn't fair to her brother to let him deal with all the arrangements and responsibilities by himself, either. Especially not when she'd unwittingly created so much extra trouble.

With a long sigh, Sharon closed her eyes briefly and tried to force some order into her thoughts so she could take a mental inventory.

She'd go see her mother, first. Her sister was looking after her, which reassured Sharon somewhat, because Steffi's presence was sure to be a comfort to their mother. Still she needed to see for herself, and greet her mother and see what she could do to make things easier… And after that she could go look for Rusty in her brother's old room; Katie had said he was okay but again Sharon wanted to make sure… And she wanted to talk to Ricky, too, and – oh, she'd _completely_ forgotten about Lt. Flynn, who had to be _somewhere_ in the house and would also need a place to sleep, of course, and –

"Mom!"

Her eyes flew open at the note of alarm in her son's tone, but Ricky seemed okay as he stamped down the stairs, although she cringed slightly at the speed and the way he barely caught himself from tripping over the last steps. When he more or less landed beside her, she took the opportunity to inspect him closer, and indeed he was in one piece and well, despite the agitated expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, at the same time that he asked, "Are you okay?" And then they stared at each other in relative confusion for a second, until it dawned on Sharon that _she_ was the cause for his alarm, and it occurred to Ricky that maybe his mom was just taking a quiet moment to think, which admittedly wasn't that unusual.

"I'm fine, honey," she hurried to reassure him, and he cleared his throat and gave a little embarrassed grimace.

"Uh – me too?" And almost against herself Sharon had to smile, because she always missed how Ricky could infuse a note of humor even into the most awkward situations. And she _really_ missed the way his eyes softened when he looked at her sometimes, as he did currently: "Sorry, Mom… we're just a little… worried, right now."

"I know," she acknowledged, because she _did_ know, not just by their words but by their actions – which she wasn't feeling up to discussing just yet. "I'm sorry."

Ricky sighed. "Not your fault..." For a second, he looked like he wanted to bring up something else, probably his actions from earlier in the day, but he changed his mind halfway through. "So…are you done thinking?" He was relieved to see her smile ever so slightly again. "Katie's upstairs too, and I have about thirty casseroles I can bring up if you're hungry…"

Gripping the banister, Sharon pulled herself up. "Not right now honey, thank you. I need to go see grandma…" She let out a slow breath. "What time is it?"

"Just after nine," he replied, then tried again: "How about dinner _after_ you talk to grandma? We were waiting for you, to eat…"

Unfortunately, the trick that had worked the previous day didn't do it this time, and she just shook her head. "Don't wait any longer," she advised, "I don't know how long it will take with grandma." He was about to say more, but Sharon held up a hand to preempt further protests. "Actually, Ricky, if you don't mind, there's one thing I'd like to ask you to do..."

And after delegating to her son the task of finding Lt. Flynn, making sure the man was comfortable and figuring out sleeping arrangements, there was no reason to wait any longer. Slowly, Sharon made her way up the staircase, suppressing one last shiver as her mind kept flashing back to the image of the candle-lit room that smelled too strongly of incense.

* * *

**A/N: I swear next chapter will get us past the actual funeral, even if it needs to have 8,000 words to get there :P. (it probably won't need that many, though). Like I said, we're on the last chapters of this story, so if there are any interactions within Sharon's family that you'd particularly like to see, let me know! (aside from Sharon/Rusty, of course, which I assure you we will be seeing plenty of... eventually ;) )  
**

**As always, thank you for reading, I'm incredibly grateful for all your support and encouragement :). And, I love reviews more than Rusty loves complaining about his security detail.  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! And to those of you who review - I really, really appreciate all of you taking the time to write these amazing comments. They absolutely make my day. **

**So I know, I _know _that I said this chapter would get us through the funeral... but then it really _would_ have grown to be like, 12,000 words. So instead, I split it in half, so now we get two bonus Andy scenes (****in reply to your comments on family interactions you'd like to see, so thank you!)** and the last scene, all of which would've otherwise been left out. And from now on I'm just not going to make any more forecasts about how this story evolves :P. Because honestly, the more I try to anticipate it, the more out of hand it gets - it's like one of Flynn & Provenza's suspect-escorting road trips! 

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (15)**

" – and the kitchenette is at the end of the other hall and to the left, right by the back door. There are sandwiches and snacks in there... although, if you're hungry now, I can warm up some casserole…"

Andy hurried to shake his head. "That's okay, I'm not that hungry. Had a big lunch at the airport waiting for our flight…"

Katie gave him a quick glance as they headed down the hall, then spoke in a quiet tone: "Thank you, by the way." She met his eyes again. "For bringing Mom…"

"I didn't," he replied earnestly. "Just… tagged along, more or less." Even he didn't know why he'd done it exactly, but when they'd been at the airport and Sharon had looked so stressed and conflicted after hearing that Rusty's flight had taken off, he just hadn't been able to imagine her going off alone, without even the time to go home and pack a suitcase. So he'd flashed his badge, spun some story to the airline employee and wrangled an extra seat, and he'd…tagged along.

More or less.

This time Sharon's daughter was giving him a slightly doubtful look that was eerily reminiscent of her mother, but she didn't ask for clarifications, saying instead, "Thanks anyway," with a small but sincere smile.

He liked her – in some ways she reminded him of his own daughter, probably because they must have been around the same age. In other ways, of course, she reminded him of Sharon. At first glance, she'd looked incredibly young and naïve, a little blithe and out of her depth…and then her brother had asked for help getting Andy settled, and Andy had witnessed Katie square out the situation in about three seconds flat, figuring out sleeping logistics and summoning an air mattress and other necessities seemingly out of thin air, and in the blink of an eye it was all done and she was asking him if he wanted dinner, too.

Ricky hadn't seemed surprised at all, and Andy had remembered that those two had managed to accomplish what the whole of Major Crimes had failed to do: they'd gotten Sharon to her father's funeral, and they'd taken on DDA Rios, Rusty's private catholic school, airport authorities and apparently even the Air Force to do it. So despite the innocuous appearance and slightly eccentric manner, clearly he shouldn't have been surprised to find Katie every bit as capable as her mother.

He could see Sharon in both her children. Maybe not physically, although her daughter's expressions were a faithful replica of her own, and her son's resemblance to a younger, better-looking Jack Raydor was mitigated by the green eyes and the high cheekbones that were all Sharon's. But no, he could mostly see her in the way they acted, in their gestures and their warmth and the way they were so polite and accommodating even though he was a complete stranger crashing a sorrowful moment in their lives and making extra work for them.

It wasn't his place to feel that way, but nonetheless he felt incredibly proud for Sharon, because of how _good_ her children were, and how evident her influence on them. Which of course came as no surprise whatsoever, because all of them on the team had seen her with Rusty for nearly a year. That Sharon Raydor was a good mother was no longer news to anyone.

Andy prayed that the kid could stay with her, because there were good things in his future if he did. And he knew it went both ways, too … but the thought wasn't as uplifting as it should've been because there was _too much_ threatening that relationship, and it was likely as not to end in heartbreak for everyone involved...

"Are you sure you don't want to take Ricky up on his offer? He really doesn't mind sleeping in the study, and you'd probably be a little more comfortable in an actual bed…"

Katie's words startled him out of his thoughts, and he was a little surprised to notice that they'd moved into a totally different part of the house and he'd missed it, so lost had he been in his contemplations.

"Er – no, thanks, don't worry about it." He gave her an easy nod. "And I'm sure the air mattress is fine…hey, I've slept on a lot worse on stakeouts."

Katie gave him a funny sideways glance that again reminded him of Sharon. As did her next words: "I'm not an expert here, but isn't it kind of the point of stakeouts that you _don't_ fall asleep, Lieutenant…?"

And he had to chuckle. "Don't tell your mother."

* * *

They found Sharon in the kitchenette, unexpectedly, her voice having drifted down to them before they'd even reached the room, causing Katie to instinctively pick up the pace.

" _– sure I can't tempt you with a sandwich?_" Andy hadn't recognized the first voice: it had sounded somewhat young, and had a faint sort of accent that he couldn't exactly place, not quite southern, not quite mid-western.

"_I think coffee is enough for now, thank you_," that had been Sharon's voice, and hearing her words Katie had let out a soft, unwilling huff that he could sympathize with.

"_...how about some tea?_"

They'd entered the room then, and Andy had identified the speaker as a young redhead, in her early thirties at most, and he wasn't sure but he thought she might have been related to the woman with the short grey hair sitting across from Sharon at the table.

Katie walked up behind her mother's chair and leaned over to circle both arms around Sharon's neck and kiss the top of her hair. "Tea sounds great, Jules," she said meaningfully, and Sharon leaned her head briefly against her daughter's arms in a quiet gesture of acquiescence. Then she turned her head and noticed him, and Andy was a little sad to see her body automatically tensing up the slightest bit, her expression schooled into something more neutral, her posture just a note more guarded.

He understood it, of course, but it still made him feel bad that his presence was stopping her from relaxing. Still he tried not to take it too personally, because it couldn't be helped: her work and family life were clearly separate entities, and no matter how close a friend _anyone_ was, they'd have probably gotten the same reaction under the current circumstances…

And at least Sharon was giving him a small smile that said she was glad to see him. "Andy." Her voice still had the same tired quality from earlier. "I'm sorry for not checking in on you."

He suppressed a wry look, although she could probably read it in his expression anyway. "Don't worry, I've got everything I need," he tried to keep his tone light, "thanks to this young lady and her brother." He nodded in silent appreciation to Katie, who had straightened back up, although one hand was still resting on her mother's shoulder.

Sharon smiled up at her daughter. "Good. Oh –" she seemed to realize that he hadn't met the others."Andy – this is my sister, Stephanie," she indicated the older of the two, "and her daughter Julie. Lieutenant Flynn and I work together at the LAPD," she explained for their benefit."He was… kind enough to accompany me here." The last words were spoken with a small, grateful nod in his direction.

Katie retrieved a couple of tea mugs while he exchanged the common pleasantries with her aunt and cousin, and gave them his condolences. He noticed that Stephanie, too, had red-rimmed eyes and slight dark circles underneath. But her voice and movements were filled with an erratic kind of energy, almost as though she couldn't quite get herself to sit still.

And perhaps she _couldn't_: on the plane, Sharon had briefly mentioned that Stephanie had spent most of her life traveling, and although she hadn't gone into details as to where or why, Andy could definitely see how a kind of nomadic lifestyle would have suited the woman he saw in front of him now. She _looked_ like a woman around fifty or so, but her general air was that of someone far younger and more unpredictable… between her and Julie, the daughter had the more restrained and mature manner, for sure.

" – you can take it upstairs, it's almost ten anyway…" Katie was back to coaxing her mother into (probably) getting some sleep, and it seemed that Sharon was considering giving in, although she did give _him _a questioning look that made him immediately hold up his hands.

"I'm all set," Andy hurried to assure her, "I've got a couple of phone calls to make, and then I know where to find my bed. Don't worry."

Sharon frowned slightly. "If you'd like some dinner…"

"I'll warm up something," Julie piped in. "I'm still sorting through what Mrs. Annie dropped by, anyway. I'll be happy to find you something, Lieutenant Flynn."

He really wasn't all that hungry, but further argument wasn't going to help anyone, so instead he nodded. "Thanks." He watched Sharon get up and reach for her tea mug, and gave her what he hoped was a supportive look. "Have a good night. Try to get some rest."

And she gave him that small smile of hers and said "Thank you," in a soft voice, and he could tell that she meant it in more ways than one, even though he really hadn't done that much, and certainly not more than she'd have done for him.

"I'll come up, too." Stephanie pushed her own chair back. "I want to check on Mom before we go to bed… Nice meeting you, Andy," she smiled a little absently. "Jules, I'll see you upstairs."

Julie hummed her agreement while she moved the electric tea kettle back to the counter, and she also wished Sharon and Katie a good night, and then it was just the two of them left in the kitchenette. Andy carried two empty water glasses to the sink, then he excused himself and pulled out his phone to dial Provenza, who earlier had grumbled his vehement and sarcastic disapproval at Andy's impromptu decision to accompany the Captain. He'd also informed Andy that he was an unequivocal idiot, and that when sticking his nose into the Captain's business backfired, he wasn't interested in being dragged into it and Andy had better not call him to complain.

Which had basically been Provenza's way of politely asking to be updated on the situation, and Flynn knew better than to do otherwise.

And he didn't even point out, when his partner's voice came on before the first ring had even ended, that for someone declaredly uninterested in hearing anything about it, Provenza sure had picked up the phone awfully fast.

* * *

Rusty couldn't sleep.

It came as no surprise: he'd known that would be the case from the moment Katie had decided on sleeping arrangements that had him sharing a room with her brother. It wasn't her fault, not really... and it wasn't even Ricky's fault, although he _was_ the noisiest sleeper in the world – but then he could've been quiet as a tomb and Rusty still wouldn't have been able to let himself fall asleep. He was proud of himself for even managing just to stay quiet and keep his heartbeat under control.

It really wasn't as bad as he'd expected, though. Yes, he was too nervous to actually sleep, but all things considered, he wasn't freaking out _too_ badly. Which actually _was_ a little surprising, seeing as how just a few hours earlier he'd been about ready to make a desperate run for the woods. And that _before_ he'd found himself in tight quarters, at night, in a foreign house, with a man he barely knew.

Yet now his anxiety was more a mild bubbling in the pit of his stomach than the encroaching dread from earlier in the afternoon. And although he tried not to think about it too much, he knew exactly why.

That afternoon, this had been just a creepily-somber, intimidatingly-huge house filled with foreign sounds and foreign smells and strangers.

Then Sharon had arrived. Suddenly it was _her_ house, and those strangers were _her_ family, and somehow everything imposing and weird and foreign didn't seem all that scary anymore. Oh, it was all still uncomfortable, and Rusty still felt awkward and superfluous and oh so uncertain, but at the same time the heavy dread had lifted and in some weird way, he felt okay about all the chaos.

He didn't even bother to wonder why that was, anymore. It was Sharon. Even though he hadn't even seen her yet, just knowing she was there made all the difference.

Even _if_ he still didn't know where he stood with her, or how angry she was, or what would happen...

A loud creak in one of the walls made him jump, and Rusty reminded himself that this was an old house and _of course_ everything squeaked and groaned. Especially in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep and everything else was quiet.

_Too_ quiet.

Granted, the house _was_ basically in the middle of the forest, but for someone who'd only ever known the constant racket of the city, the lack of noise pressed uncomfortably on the eardrums and every little sound seemed amplified tenfold. In the eerie silence, Rusty could hear water running through pipes, and some tree branches scraping against the window, and those awfully creepy creaks and cracks that kept coming out of the blue_. _It did unsettle him a little, and it certainly didn't help his agitated thoughts relax into any semblance of tranquility...

Still wide awake while the rest of the household slept, he felt his mind circle chaotically... Most often, of course, it came back to Sharon and her family, and what a constant source of confusion it was to see her like this, in this totally different world populated with people who related to her in a totally different way. And there were _so many_ people, and so much Sharon shared with them, smiles and frustrations and secrets and unspoken signals, blood, relationships, _years_, a whole other _life_ that he'd known almost nothing about.

If it was because she'd never told him, or he'd never asked, he couldn't guess. But it was all so complicated... and he simply couldn't understand how or where or even _whether_ he could fit into all of it.

* * *

He _had_ seen Sharon since her arrival, actually – twice, as a matter of fact, though neither time _really_ counted. Briefly, on his way back upstairs earlier, he'd noticed her talking to her niece. They'd been about halfway down the other upstairs hallway, and then Sharon's sister had joined them, and of course Rusty hadn't been about to go butt into their conversation. He'd paused in his tracks for one second, but Sharon had been facing the opposite way and Stephanie and Julie hadn't been paying attention to him, and he'd finally made himself head quietly back into the room.

_I thought I heard your voice._ Sharon's sister had given her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Rusty had once again been struck by how little they resembled each other, lithe Stephanie with her short grey hair and tight-fitting yoga pants and shirt, and her quick speech and rapid flowing gestures, and Sharon, who in every way looked, sounded and moved differently...

_I was just coming to see Mom_.

_She's asleep_.

Sharon had seemed like she still wanted to proceed, but her sister and Julie must have eventually dissuaded her, because Rusty thought he'd heard the three of them walking back downstairs, although he wasn't entirely sure where they'd gone.

The second time, he'd just finished brushing his teeth and was heading back to the bedroom when he'd glimpsed Sharon right on the landing at the top of the staircase. Her sister and Katie had been with her, and they'd been talking to someone whom at first Rusty hadn't been able to see.

He'd noticed that she was still wearing the same outfit she'd arrived in – and really, _how_ could he hold it against her that she hadn't come to find him, when she hadn't even taken a few minutes to go to her own room and change? At this point he felt more inclined to be angry about the latter than the former.

…_don't need to worry about it, I'll go down and check it in a little while_. He couldn't hear the conversation very well, but Sharon's tone had been soft, soothing, in a different way from the soft tone she used on him however, different from the one she used on Ricky or Katie, too.

_But someone needs to turn on the pump and reset the cycle… every Thursday night … _He'd heard the new voice, low and hoarse, and suddenly he'd known who Sharon was speaking to, even before the owner of the voice had come into his line of sight.

He'd instinctively taken a step back as he'd recognized the same slightly scary elderly woman he'd seen from a distance 's mother. Obviously not asleep any longer, she'd still been wearing the same all-black clothes, and looked every bit as small, frail and unsettling as before.

And she really did look a lot like Stephanie, and maybe even like Katie, a little. She only came up to Sharon's chin.

He'd lingered a moment longer in the hallway, to hear Sharon's voice, which at the moment he'd found so reassuring...

_I know. Paul's already taken care of that. I'll take another look if you want, but I'm sure it's all fine._

_Are you sure…? Does he know to set the basement switch…?_

Whatever her mother had been worried about, she hadn't seemed to want to let it go; Stephanie had put a hand on her shoulder. _Mom, who _cares_ about the basement switch?_

_But…_

_Just forget about it… _Stephanie had cut her off with a quick hug, and a string of her rapid, slightly garbled whispers had covered her mother's words, until the older woman's anxious voice had trailed off.

Rusty had hesitated only a few moments more, then retreated into the bedroom again. But the full scene he'd witnessed stayed with him. Even now, a few hours later, he wasn't able to entirely put it out of his mind.

Sharon hadn't hugged her mother.

He didn't think it was because she didn't want to. Even from a distance, Rusty had seen the way her body had shifted, angling slightly toward her mother, her arms uncrossing, her entire posture seemingly frozen just on the verge of reaching out. Surprised to find the motions familiar, he'd abruptly realized that Sharon did the same around him sometimes, and he wondered how he'd never recognized it before.

He wondered how _her mother_ didn't see it, because once he'd become aware of it, it had looked plain as daylight that Sharon _wanted_ to reach out and touch her, and was holding herself back. And he hadn't known what to think about that, except that admittedly the somber elderly woman, with her ramrod straight posture and the air of chilly detachment about her, didn't exactly seem like the warm and fuzzy PDA kind, and Sharon probably knew what she was doing and how to deal with her own mother...

But then, _Stephanie_ had been constantly touching and patting the older woman, with an arm around her waist or her shoulders, and _she'd_ hugged her mother, and the woman had willingly leaned into it, even though she'd made no overtures of the sort toward her older daughter.

Rusty didn't know just what to make of it, because literally the _only_ experience he'd had with parents with more than one child had been Sharon with Ricky and Katie – somehow he couldn't imagine her acting the same way as her mother, but then really, what did he know?

For her part, Sharon had seemed content to stand by, although she'd wrapped her arms around herself, and she probably hadn't even realized she'd done it but Rusty's chest had tightened a little at the sight. Somehow, holding herself back while her mother allowed Stephanie to comfort her felt _exactly_ like something Sharon would do, but it still felt unfair to him, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why the scene bothered him so. Maybe because from his angle it had looked too much like a very subtle sort of rejection.

Was that why she seemed to get him, sometimes?

The very notion of it pushed all his angry buttons, because of all the people in the world, there was no one who deserved that kind of crap less than Sharon. No one who deserved to be loved _more_, and… okay, alright, he was probably overthinking the thirty seconds' worth of interaction he'd seen, and _obviously_ her mother must've loved her, but damn it, if the woman was going to love one kid more than the other, well then it should've been Sharon.

Rusty let out a muffled groan. This really was none of his business. Not his business how Sharon's mother felt about Sharon, or about Stephanie, or how she acted, or how Sharon felt about any of that, or … just… none of his business, any of it.

Except it bothered him anyway.

He knew he was probably reading too much into the whole thing, but he was so well acquainted with rejection and the constant uncertainty and weight of not knowing where one stood... and he simply refused to even _consider_ Sharon feeling _anything_ like that, because it made him sick just to think about it.

_Your mother is the one who's losing out here..._

Well, just for the record, in his opinion Sharon's mother didn't know what she was missing. And he felt bad for the elderly woman and everything, but really, she had no idea. And he'd gladly tell Sharon as much. Because she was doing _everything_ right...

He heard a mattress creaking through the wall, and it must have been from Sharon's old bedroom next door, and Rusty wondered if she was sleeping or lying in her own bed, awake and anxious, as he did. He thought about Sharon's family, and all he'd seen of it in that one afternoon that had somehow felt _so_ much longer. And he thought about his own mother, and how little he really knew about how real families worked, and he wondered whether he'd really ever have the chance to learn it all…

* * *

Sharon hadn't been able to fall asleep.

It wasn't that she wasn't tired, because she'd been in a constant state of exhaustion for days, and even just the effort of climbing up the staircase to her old bedroom and taking a shower had felt monumental. But after finishing her shower, changing into a pair of slacks and an old shirt, she'd sat down on the bed for one second and unintentionally drifted off for some little while, then she'd abruptly startled awake in the sudden darkness and hadn't been able to go back to sleep since.

So now she lay on her back, eyes open, keeping her breathing steady and feeling so exhausted and yet so completely awake that it was almost painful. She'd experienced that kind of sensation before, but closing her eyes and focusing on taking deep breaths usually worked, and she'd fall asleep after not too long.

Except this time, whenever she closed her eyes, the image of her father's face seemed etched on the inside of her eyelids, and the second she so much as blinked too slowly, it would come, unbidden, inexorable, causing the same wave of suffocating panic that she'd barely managed to keep at bay when she'd seen him earlier. She couldn't face it, and she couldn't make it stop no matter how much she tried, because every time, every _single_ time she closed her eyes there it was... and so she'd given up and was simply staring out into the darkness, letting the sounds of the night and her daughter's soft breathing wash over her.

Katie was sleeping on her side, facing her, and Sharon had spent a good amount of time just watching her daughter's face, a soft smile playing on her lips; however bleak everything else seemed, those moments had still held a warm kind of peace that slowed down her frantic heartbeats and held the icy dread at bay. She could've done just that all night, and been content, if not for the fact that the fatigue was starting to impair her vision, causing flashes and odd shapes to play in the corners of her eyes as she tried to see in the growing darkness.

Whenever that happened, she'd tried to look away briefly, letting her gaze wander over the still-familiar contours of the room, but after a while even that didn't work anymore, and her eyes felt too dry and the shapes looked distorted. Even the walls seemed to move ever-so-slightly, giving her a vague sensation of vertigo. Which wasn't all that unusual given how tired she was, but it was also making her slightly nauseated.

She tried not to hold it against herself _too_ much, but she did partly think that she wasn't putting enough effort into handling her emotions. She shouldn't have indulged herself into these kinds of psychosomatic reactions – she knew it was all just in her head and she was only making things worse by giving in and letting the dread and the numbness and the dark thoughts get the better of her. But it was a slippery slope because now she wasn't sure she could stop it anymore, and her body was just refusing to cooperate, with her heart beating too fast and her vision playing tricks on her and the queasiness and the slight pounding in her temples…

Sharon let out a slow breath, closed her eyes again, opened them a moment later and, sinking her head deeper into the pillow, admitted to herself that this wasn't working. If she didn't find a way to take a mental break, she didn't know _what_ would happen the next day, and the last thing she wanted was to have finally made it all the way to her parents' house only to miss the funeral because she'd made herself sick. Part of her knew that her grief had been causing her to make a lot of questionable calls, but she didn't know _how_ to stop it, or how to channel that grief into less harmful reactions…

Still she knew one thing, and that was that she had to get some sleep, or at least get some _rest_, and just sitting there waiting for it to happen was clearly not the way to go.

Cautiously, she slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb Katie, and made her way down the unlit hallway, grateful that she could still navigate the house in the dark without making any noise.

* * *

She'd left the lights off, the kitchenette lit only by the residual glow from the wall lamps along the downstairs hallway. It was enough light for her to be able to fill the electric kettle and plug it in, and Sharon leaned tiredly against the small counter as the water boiled. She didn't particularly think tea would help, but it couldn't hurt, and at least it might settle her stomach at little. When a thin wisp of steam began to rise from the kettle, she opened one of the drawers and felt around for the tea, pulling out a couple of small boxes. One in particular felt familiar, and she held it close to her face and inhaled the strong smell of chamomile, then reached up into a cabinet and got a mug.

She was just setting the mug down when she suddenly felt someone behind her, a long shadow seemingly come out of nowhere, and she startled so badly that the tea pack slipped out of her shaking fingers and the mug rattled loudly against the counter.

"_Sorry _– sorry, it's just me, Sharon!"

She closed her eyes briefly, one hand still gripping the edge of the counter while her heartbeat tried to return to normal.

"I – sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Rusty had retreated a few good feet back, looking almost scared to go any closer again. "I though you heard me."

Not quite ready to speak yet, Sharon just shook her head to indicate that she'd hadn't, and took another deep breath. "What are you doing awake?" she managed finally.

"Uh..." He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't think of a single _plausible_ reason to be there; all of a sudden he felt a little overwhelmed, too. "I uhm..."

She pressed a hand to the base of her throat for a moment, and breathed out a little more calmly. "Do you need anything...?"

Rusty didn't know what to say to that, but he had a pretty good idea that there was only one thing _to_ say at nearly 2 a.m. the day before her father's funeral, and it definitely didn't involve any of his needs. "No. Uh..." He swallowed.

_Just say sorry, and be nice.  
_

"Sharon..." In the dark, the house felt even more somber, the air heavy with the weight of a terrible loss, and he could smell the incense all the way here and how could he 'just say sorry' when there was just _so much_...

She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closing for a moment, then she looked at him again. "What is it, Rusty?" She sounded so tired, with even the shortest sentences leaving her breathless. When he hesitated again with his reply, a frown creased her brow: "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

They'd been down this road before, a few days ago in her office, and maybe Rusty hadn't figured out how to talk to her or even what he wanted to say, but he'd at least learned to not make things worse again – and so he hurried to cut her off. "No –it's fine, it's just... weirdly quiet in Minnesota."

Usually she would've said something in return, maybe joked about him being a city kid or teenagers nowadays wanting to live with constant noise... but instead she only hummed softly in reply, and bent to retrieve the tea pack that she'd dropped.

He should've left her alone, he knew, but somehow he found himself speaking again: "Can I... have some of that tea, maybe? Like, if you made enough for two people?"

Sharon gave a small nod, turning around to pull another mug out of the cabinet. The water had started boiling by now, so she unplugged the kettle and poured hot water into both mugs, and opened the drawer again to get out another tea bag.

"Thanks," he said quietly when she handed him his tea, and again she just nodded imperceptibly.

He leaned against the fridge door, and watched her pick up her own mug with slow, deliberate movements, and she leaned against the counter again and inhaled deeply.

Seconds went by, and Sharon didn't move or look at him, and Rusty felt his stomach churning. Was she not talking to him because she was mad? It was too dark to see her expression well, but from her body posture and general manner she didn't _seem_ mad, she just seemed... tired. But she did have reason to be mad, and Lt. Flynn had said that Rusty would have to work it out with her, but what if it was too late?

"Did you have dinner?" she asked, so softly that he almost had to strain to hear it. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Uh – Katie made us some sandwiches earlier... I'm not hungry." He'd anticipated the fleeting smile on Sharon's lips at the mention of her daughter, because she'd done that when talking about Ricky, too. Again he couldn't help thinking about how different that was from her mother's reaction, and how telling... And that in turn made him wonder about his own mother, and did she ever smile like that when she thought about him...or did she ever even think about him at all?

His fingers clenched around the hot mug, and he lowered his face into the rising steam.

A scraping sound let him know that Sharon had pulled out a chair, and he looked up to see her sitting down at the table, forehead resting tiredly against her joined fingertips. She stayed that way only for a moment, before lowering her hands to the table top and clasping them around her cup of tea. A little hesitantly, Rusty sat down in the chair across from her, propped both elbows on the table and started to drink his tea in silence, even though he didn't really _like_ tea at all.

Twenty times he wanted to open his mouth and say something. Apologize for running off. Ask her what she needed, if she'd be okay. Tell her she was a better daughter than her sister, a better mother than her mother and ... He wanted so badly to say all of it but he stopped himself every time because none of it was enough, there were no _words_... and _why_ wasn't she talking to him?

He wanted to at least tell her he was sorry for her loss, but somehow the words that came so easily for everyone else he'd met in her family got stuck in his throat before he could say them to _her_, because for _Sharon_, 'just say sorry' was too little, too insignificant, just... not good enough.

The tea ran out much too soon, long before Rusty could figure out anything, and Sharon waved him off when he moved to carry the mugs to the sink. He pretended to miss it, and was about to clean them anyway when she came up behind him. "Leave them," she said quietly. "I'll wash them."

"Sharon–"

"Go back to bed," she told him, stepping to take his place by the small sink, and as she proceeded to empty out the kettle and replace the tea box in a drawer, he was again overcome by the frustration of not being able to _do_ anything for her, and she was standing_ right there_ and he _wanted_ her to _know _and suddenly the need to reach out somehow, _any_how was just overwhelmingly strong, and...

"Go on upstairs, Rusty," Sharon urged again.

Rusty flinched, then swallowed hard.

"Yeah...okay." His voice sounded a little strangled to his own ears. "Thanks for the tea..."

"Goodnight," she wished him in the same soft murmur, and he didn't even know what to say back. It took her telling him to go for the third time until he finally made himself leave the kitchenette, and he nearly turned back a dozen times afterwards anyway. But he still couldn't find the words, and she was barely talking to him, and why keep imposing his presence on her if he couldn't do any good?

And it had been obvious that Sharon didn't need conversation anyway – she needed sleep, _a break_, and for the second time that week Rusty wished from all his heart that life would give breaks when they were needed.

At least her father's funeral was the next day, and for better or worse the stressful build-up would be over. Rusty had to think it would be for the better, because he couldn't imagine that things could _get_ much more tense or draining. He'd never been to a funeral and the whole prospect unsettled him, but it was supposed to give the family closure, and that _had_ to be a good thing, right?

He hoped Sharon would get her closure. And he really, really hoped that she'd get a break.

And somewhere at the back of his mind, though it made him feel terribly selfish, a small, young part of him also hoped that maybe after the funeral, things would eventually go back to what they'd been. Before the letters had been revealed, before Emma and her one-woman-war against him, before Sharon's terrible loss, before that whole godawful week that had only rained chaos and heartbreak on them. He just wanted things to go back to normal. For both of them.

Maybe after the next day, they'd be able to go back to where they'd been before.

* * *

**A/N: No more forecasts at all. Next chapter will be a chapter. And it will have words in it (maybe), and it will probably have our favorite characters in it (maybe! unless someone steals them while I'm getting coffee.)**

**Thank you so much for reading and staying with this story. As always, I love your reviews ... more than Lt. Provenza loves his printer money-jar! **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading, and for your continued support.  
**

**This chapter contains one of my favorite scenes in the story ;) (well - obviously i'm biased because this whole story is my slightly-out-of-control baby, but the scene i'm talking about was one of my favorites to think about and write. so i wanted to give it a quick mention). **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (16)**

The next morning brought a flurry of activity that made Rusty's head spin.

He could hear voices, _so_ many of them, subdued murmurs and agitated calls, hurried footsteps on the other side of the door and bits of conversation drifting up from downstairs. When he looked out from the bedroom window he saw a string of cars pulling up the driveway, and they all slowly drove around the house to make room for _more_ cars, and there were so many people he couldn't believe it. Older folk stepping out of the cars in couples, white-haired women on the arms of their grown children and elderly men greeting each other with long handshakes and grave hugs. People Sharon's age and even her children's age, escorting their parents and grandparents, all of them dressed the same, a frightening sea of black suits and dark gloves and solemn faces.

His old anxiety and uncertainty began bubbling to the surface again under the threat of so many strangers and unfamiliar rituals, but fortunately most of the activity seemed contained in the downstairs area, so at least in the bedroom he was relatively removed from it. Still, the restless rhythm of the day reached the upstairs even if the flood of people didn't. Doors opened and closed up and down the hallway, and there was a general air of agitation, restrained whispers bouncing tense and urgent off the wooden walls.

Having woken up at seven, Ricky was in and out of the room every five minutes, constantly checking on his family in the midst of getting ready, running small errands and fielding phone calls as he got out his dark suit and ironed a tie and brushed his teeth. Katie had come in a couple of times, too, still in her slacks and old sleeping shirt, her hair pinned up as carelessly as it had been when she'd first met Rusty at the airport. She looked more tired now, though she'd spared him a fleeting smile and a 'good morning' as she hurriedly rummaged through Ricky's suitcase for a phone charger before rushing back out of the room.

He met 'Aunt Mary-Anne' when she accidentally barged in, staring at him in momentary confusion for a second before it visibly dawned on her who he was. "Sorry – I… wrong door," she sighed, looking a little hassled, and Rusty noticed that she carried an old shopping bag in her hands. "Ricky – honey, have you seen your mother?" She'd held up the bag then. "These are for her…"

Ricky had pulled his head out of the closet and suggested trying his grandmother's bedroom, and a minute later Rusty could hear Sharon's voice coming up the hallway, thanking Mary-Anne for whatever the woman had brought her, but he couldn't quite hear what that was because Katie had rushed back in just then saying something about an extra sweater for 'Uncle Marcus'. Ricky had gone back to sorting through the closet until they'd found something, and she'd hurried out again.

Helpless to assist any of them, Rusty at least tried to stay out of the way; he'd literally not moved further than the bed in the corner, except to open the window. The fact that he was so obviously left out of whatever was going on made him feel awkward, but he made an effort to suppress it. No one was _intentionally_ discounting him… he just had no role to play, and clearly they were all too busy to worry about finding him something to do.

Still, that left him with the serious dilemma of what exactly _to_ do, whether he was supposed to go with them or stay, change, or get ready, or…do something else entirely. He had no idea.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat meaningfully when Ricky came into the room again, still wearing half his pajamas over his suit pants. "Do you know what… I'm, like, expected to do…?" He felt his cheeks heating uncomfortably at having to ask the question, but it was better than doing the wrong thing so he struggled on. "'cause all this didn't exactly come with a rule book..."

And okay, maybe he'd mumbled half of it, but to his annoyance, Ricky was only half-paying attention anyway! Instead, he was caught between responding to a work email and trying to iron his shirt, and Rusty couldn't get himself to repeat the question. After a few seconds, Sharon's son looked up, and he seemed a little taken aback at the dissatisfied glower he was receiving.

"Er – what? Sorry… what book?" He shook his head in confusion, as he just couldn't imagine what _books_ had to do with anything at the moment, but he tried anyway... "There's a nice library in grandpa's study downstairs, if you want to read something…?"

Rusty rolled his eyes. "_Thanks_," he deadpanned, and couldn't help a disbelieving grimace at Ricky's still-confused expression. Maybe Sharon really had dropped him on his head as a child.

For his part, Ricky gave the boy a doubtful look, a little irked at what he felt was unwarranted contrariness. What _was_ it with this kid, and what on Earth was he missing that his mother obviously saw?

But now was not the time to be thinking about that, and so he tried to be helpful again and suggested that Rusty ask Katie for a book recommendation later, and he tried not to take it personally when the boy only responded with an exasperated groan. Then his thoughts turned elsewhere when Julie rapped gently on the door, stuck her head in and urged him to hurry up and finish getting dressed, because Fathers Connelly and Jameson were there, and they all had to get downstairs.

* * *

Slightly before nine, the noise from downstairs had increased significantly, and the agitation on the upstairs floor was reaching a peak. Rusty felt that, whatever procedures the funeral entailed, they were going to start soon. His sense of urgency also peaked, because he was still in his pajamas and if he _was_ supposed to be doing something, he definitely wasn't ready.

When Katie walked into the room again he fairly jumped into her path, relieved at the sudden chance to maybe get some idea of what was expected of him. "Hi – uh, I have no idea if I'm supposed to do anything, _help_, _please_." He said it all in one rush of breath, then gave her an anxiously questioning look while she struggled to process the mashed-together words.

Katie regarded him with a thoughtful, if still somewhat hassled, expression. She'd changed into a knee-length black dress and a long-sleeved sweater, the most conservative outfit he'd seen on her yet, and her hair was brushed properly too, pulled back into a simple ponytail.

"Okay," she nodded after a few moments, "I'm … not sure. I've never done this before, either," she admitted with a small, sad shrug. "But I think it's okay if you just stay home. I don't think Mom would mind," she anticipated his concerns, "I don't think she'd want to make you…She probably just wants you to be comfortable."

Which, Rusty agreed, sounded _exactly_ like what Sharon would say. Yet somehow it made him feel both relieved, and a little dissatisfied for reasons he couldn't understand.

Katie gave him a long look. "I don't think she'd mind if you want to come, either," she said quietly. "But… just… "

_Stay out of the way_, Rusty interpreted, and he didn't even feel offended about it because really, how else was Katie supposed to feel about his presence? What he really wanted to know, though, was what _Sharon_ wanted. Only he couldn't ask her.

So he thanked Katie honestly, knowing that she didn't have any more time to waste debating what he was supposed to do, and she gave him a small smile and reminded him to find her or Ricky for whatever he needed, and then she was gone, leaving him no less conflicted than before.

* * *

He didn't particularly _want_ to go to a funeral, and from what he'd read (okay, he'd googled it – what _else_ was he supposed to do when no one was giving him any pointers?) it sounded like a long, scary affair and there were way too many people… And he definitely didn't want to go to _Sharon's father's funeral_, because he didn't know how to feel about that, Rusty hadn't known the man but somehow he was sad anyway, but maybe he wasn't sad _enough _and was that disrespectful? And what if she was going to cry and _then_ what was he going to do?

He rubbed both hands to his cheeks, an awful churning in his stomach. What was _wrong_ with him…?

"It's not that you don't want to go, kid." Lt. Flynn had listened patiently to his dilemma (parts of it, admittedly, redacted), and was now giving him an uncharacteristically compassionate look. "It's that you don't want it to be happening at all."

And Rusty, hands stuck in his jeans pockets, had to admit that that rang true.

"It's called sympathy," Flynn added. "It's normal."

Rusty could think of another name to call it, but he wasn't going anywhere near that. "So…?" He gave the Lieutenant a wary look. "What do _you_ think? What should I do?"

And Andy gave him a long look. "I don't know," he said honestly, because he didn't. On the one hand, Sharon would've been glad to have the kid there, but on the other, unless Rusty planned to be standing literally right next to her the whole time (which he was clearly too uncomfortable to do, and in any case Andy wasn't sure how the rest of her family would react to that), she was probably not going to notice his presence anyway, and then why put him through the difficult hours at church and the cemetery at all?

He couldn't help a pang of sympathy for Rusty. Meeting Sharon's family would've been stressful enough under the best of circumstances, and between the letters debacle and DDA Rios and the death of Sharon's father, these were the very _worst_ of circumstances. Neither of them needed even an ounce of extra pressure, and neither did the rest of her family for that matter, so if there was anything that could be done to avoid it…

"Are _you_ going?"

There was a brief silence, then... "Yeah," Andy nodded. "I'm going." But it wasn't the same thing at all, and they both knew it.

He really didn't envy the kid.

* * *

In the end, Rusty decided to stay at the house, because honestly there was only one thing he could do for Sharon that Katie and Ricky and the rest of her family wouldn't do (and without the extra awkwardness, too), and that was staying out of the way.

The only reason he was in Minnesota in the first place was so that _she_ could go. His job was done the second she'd arrived at the house, and inserting himself into her private time with her grieving family felt too much like overstepping boundaries. Granted, Rusty had no idea where those boundaries even were anymore, but he was pretty sure they were still there, somewhere, and he definitely didn't want to be overstepping them. Sharon didn't need another thing to worry about, least of all on the day of her father's funeral.

He would've liked nothing more than to ask her exactly what she _did_ need, what she wanted him to do, but of course that wasn't an option, so staying out of the way seemed like the next best thing, and the least likely to make things uncomfortable for Sharon.

So he'd stayed behind at the house, and from the window he watched with some degree of confusion as the large hearse pulled out slowly (he wondered if it was the same driver that Paul had scolded the day before), followed by the priest who'd made that subtly snide comment about moving back the funeral (Father Jameson), and by another priest who for some reason was wearing purple robes (Rusty made a mental note to pay better attention in school, because he was pretty sure the meaning of that _had_ been explained at some point), and by some sort of priest-in-training person (again, more attention!) who was carrying a large cross.

That alone would've been slightly confusing, but what threw him even more was that everyone else was following behind, and it looked like they were planning to _walk_ to church, which was weird, and he hoped it wasn't too far because it looked like it was going to rain... Then he remembered Ricky had pulled out a small umbrella from his suitcase earlier, and he felt a little better, because at least Sharon would be okay if it did start to rain.

He'd spotted her the second he'd looked out, of course, wearing a long black coat over black pants, her hair swept by the strong wind to the point where she was forced to pull it back, and Katie pulled out a hairband from her own ponytail and handed it over. They'd been walking a few yards behind the purple-robed priest, and even from a distance Rusty could tell that Sharon was having trouble sticking to the too-slow pace, as she repeatedly seemed to make almost imperceptible pauses in her steps to keep a more or less constant distance from the priests in front.

The issue was momentarily resolved when she veered off to a side and picked up the pace a little, and trying to see where she was headed, Rusty noticed for the first time a black car stopped about halfway down the driveway. Stephanie stood by it, holding the door open for her mother, and Paul was by the driver's side door.

It looked like they planned to drive their mother to church, which Rusty thought made perfect sense – but the older woman must have been hesitant to get in, because Stephanie seemed to be trying to convince her with ample use of rapid, entreating gestures. When Sharon approached, Stephanie's shoulders slumped and she pulled a slightly irritated face and held out a hand to the open door as if to say, 'you try it'. And again Sharon paused a few feet away from her mother, and again neither tried to reach out, and Rusty felt that twinge of frustration and wished he could hear what they were saying.

A few moments later, Stephanie patted her mother's arm and held out her hand again, invitingly, and this time the woman did climb into the car, and after making sure she was settled, Stephanie closed the door carefully, and Paul got into the driver's seat. Sharon and her sister remained standing for a few seconds, having a brief conversation, and though of course he couldn't hear them, Rusty could guess by their gestures that it was a debate on whether or not to get in the car, as well.

Stephanie used her short, energetic gestures and Sharon stood with her arms crossed, one hand waving occasionally to emphasize a point. They seemed to be in disagreement, although Rusty wasn't sure _why_ – Stephanie seemed to want Sharon to get in the car, and Sharon seemed to want to get in the car too, only every time one of them made a move to actually get in, somehow the disagreement flared up again and they paused and debated some more. It was baffling, really, because Rusty couldn't imagine just _what_ they were arguing about. Maybe there was only one seat available in the back...?

Whatever it was, Sharon lost patience after about a minute of the weird back-and-forth, and she turned on her heels and headed back toward the large group of people. Ricky and Katie had been waiting for her, and the three of them started walking again, at a slightly faster pace as they were now a better distance behind the hearse and the priests, until he lost sight of them among the trees at the end of the driveway.

The crowd of black-clad people stretched on for another minute or so, but Rusty didn't know any more of them, so finally he moved away from the window and sat down on the bed and hoped that Sharon would get through the funeral okay.

* * *

The house wasn't as quiet as he'd thought it would be. A few people still milled about downstairs, although no one he knew – the only person Rusty recognized was the plump, black-and-silver-haired lady who'd met him and Katie outside the house the day before. She'd been directing a few others in setting up the living room and parlour for what he assumed must have been some sort of after-burial gathering. She looked a little confused to see him, but took it in stride, and Rusty stayed out of her hair and away from the areas that the caterers were preparing.

After getting a soda and a sandwich from the fridge, he considered going back up to the room, but ended up in the study instead. Ricky's inane suggestion from the morning had given him an idea, at least, of what to do with his Sharon's son _had_ been right about the study having a nice library: the whole right-side wall was covered in shelves, and the shelves filled with books. Now, Rusty didn't consider himself an avid reader exactly, but neither did he wish to stay holed up in a bedroom for four days, and with the house mostly-empty this was a good time to get out without risking to bother anyone.

The study felt peaceful, a room small enough to be more comfortable than the rest of the too-imposing house, and the wall paneling here looked more worn and somehow more friendly than the lacquered, stately mahogany in the hallway outside. There was even a chess board on a small table by the left wall, and two stools, one on either side, indicated that people sometimes sat down and played it. It had been left mid-game, and Rusty spent a few minutes studying it, planning out the moves in his head, trying to decide how the game would have ended up.

The presence of the chess board made the room feel even more appealing; Rusty quickly decided it was the place he liked best in the house so far. He looked at the slightly cluttered desk, a few forms and papers spread out, a pen still resting on top of some page related to property taxes. An old binder and a moleskin notebook were stacked to a side, and on the corner of the desk there was even an empty cup of tea that no one had cleaned up: a reminder of how swift and unexpected the death of Sharon's father must have been. It was here, for the first time, among the half-finished traces of a real, ordinary life, that Rusty thought of the man as a person, rather than the abstract, daunting figure whose disappearance had so heavily marked Sharon's last few days.

The room smelled slightly of wood and tea and old paper, and it was warmer than the rest of the house, too. Maybe because it was smaller it was easier to heat. Yet another reason to like it.

Rusty approached the bookshelf on the wall, and he let his eyes wander idly across the spines of the neatly-bound books. He didn't really _feel_ like reading, but it was either that or homework, and he doubted his mind could come up with an English essay under the circumstances. Let alone one that was 'clear, accessible and consistent', Sister Margaret's holy trinity of desirable traits.

Maybe he could finish the chess game on the board instead… in his head, of course, because he wouldn't have dared disturb a single piece, but it might've been a nice challenge…

Just as he was about to walk back over to the chess table, his gaze landed on a series of wider spines, all different sizes and lined up next to each other at the end of one of the shelves. Photo albums, he recognized, some of them large and leather-bound, other smaller, the covers of some worn and frayed around the edges to indicate their age. Labels in tidy cursive handwriting or hurried print on the back of every one.

_John-Paul & Elizabeth - Wedding_. Those must have been Sharon's parents, and Rusty realized he hadn't known their names before, so easy had it been to think of them by simply their relationship to her. But they'd had real lives, too, and the titles on the spines of the albums were a strange testimony. _Europe '62_. _Mixed, 70s_. _Grand Canyon/Nana's House_. Rusty wondered who'd had the patience to put them all together.

But the effort had paid off, because now the album labels told the story of a lifetime, and a family, and the sight of it felt to Rusty like something precious. _John-Paul - Northeastern._ _Elizabeth - Family_. _John-Paul & Elizabeth - Paris '51_. That must have been right before Paul was born. And then his attention was drawn to one particular album, that said _'Sharon'_ on it in elegant cursive.

He hesitated a long moment, before tentatively pulling the photo book off the shelf, careful not to disturb anything. There could be no harm in taking a look, right? As he moved to the window where there was more light, he felt an odd mixture of curiosity and delight and unease, and he couldn't quite wait until he'd reached the wide window sill to open the album, his fingers gripping the edges with great care.

The first picture made him smile. He wouldn't have recognize Sharon, of course, if not for the album title, but knowing the wide-eyed baby on the little duvet was her brought a sense of wonder to him that he didn't fully understand. Rusty didn't know anything about babies, but he thought she couldn't have been older than a few months at most; she had dimples and a slight tuft of hair, and was smiling slightly at something behind the camera. There was a woman's hand in the picture, too, long fingers hooking the clasp on the baby's onesie, and Rusty thought that maybe at _that_ point at least, her mother _must_ have been affectionate to her, because Sharon looked perfectly happy.

There were only a couple of other baby pictures, all of them black-and-white and grainy, and Rusty studied them each with the same sense of wonder. He felt a stitch of amusement at the sight of a particular one where Sharon was in the arms of an older man he didn't recognize – maybe her grandfather? – and he was grinning widely while she stared in fascination at what seemed to be an abnormally large scallion that she grasped in her hand.

It shocked him when he turned the page and there was a picture of a toddler, and even though she must've been, what – two? three at most? – he could already begin to recognize her features. She was wearing a light dress and had surprisingly wavy hair, now a much darker color, and she was walking on chubby legs, looking somewhere to the left of the camera.

Rusty curled up on the window sill, the album resting comfortably on his crossed legs; the house still made its creaking noises and the voices of the caterers carried over, urgent and sharp, but none of it bothered him at all anymore as he continued to leaf through the photos.

In the next picture, Sharon must've been two or three again, only this time there was an older boy with her, maybe eight or so, and Rusty barely knew her brother enough to recognize him as an adult, but he assumed that it was Paul in the photo. He was standing behind Sharon, slightly hunched so she could reach his extended hands with hers, which she did though she had to stand on tiptoes and raise both arms high over her head. He was grinning at her, and she was half-looking over her shoulder with a delighted expression, and Rusty couldn't help flashing back to the first time he'd seen the two of them together, and how Paul had wrapped his coat tight around her and Sharon had touched her forehead to his cheek.

There were a few more shots of the two of them after that, and almost none of Sharon alone, but it didn't seem strange because pictures must've required a lot more effort back then, and it made sense to have everyone in them. And in any case, in each photo she and Paul looked like they got along just fine, even though Paul always looked at the camera with a slightly exasperated expression, and Sharon never quite managed to look straight at the camera at all. But their bodies were at ease, and Paul's larger frame always seemed angled in a way that was almost mindful of his little sister, and she was always looking at him or touching him or reaching out to touch him, and Rusty wondered how much of that closeness had carried over to their adult years.

Four or five pages into the album he saw them with Stephanie for the first time, too, and she looked to be a couple of years old, Sharon was just around school age and Paul had grown about twelve feet and towered over both of them in a way that was almost comical. Sharon held her sister's hand, but just like in the previous photos she was half-turned toward Paul, looking up at him with an expectant gaze. Another page in, the three of them, now maybe a couple of years older, posed for what must have been one of those awkward family photos, and Rusty felt at pang of sympathy at the way Stephanie's short legs seemed to be kicking the tall stool impatiently, and the unconvinced expression on Sharon's face (she was looking just left of the camera, again). Paul alone, now a lanky teenager with signs of acne, stood straight and stared dutifully at the camera.

There were no pictures of Sharon with her parents, Rusty couldn't help but notice, which somewhat perturbed his momentary serenity. On the other hand, there really _had_ only been maybe a dozen pictures documenting just as many years, because it _was_ harder to take pictures back then… plus what did he know, maybe they had a separate album for family pictures, or something. He decided not to let that trouble him, because he was enjoying looking through this album too much, so much that part of him wished he wouldn't have to put it back. He'd come into the study with the vague intention to find a book that wouldn't be dreadfully boring, and instead he'd found a treasured story, in the pages of this photo album, a story more interesting and beautiful to him than anything he'd ever read.

He smiled unwittingly again at a group photo of what must have been a party of sorts. There were about half a dozen people in it, maybe Sharon's siblings and their cousins, and they were all dressed up, albeit in funny seventies outfits. Paul still towered over everyone, and he looked more assured now, older. Sharon looked about sixteen and she was wearing a knee-length, light-colored dress, her hair loose and alarmingly puffy. She was _still_ not quite looking straight at the camera, which by now Rusty found endearingly amusing. Everyone else faced the camera with their full bodies, but Sharon's was ever-so-slightly, barely-perceptibly turned, one of her shoulders sticking out a little more, giving her an air that could've been shy, or coy, or playful, and she'd managed to look _toward_ the camera but she was doing so cautiously, beneath her eyelashes. Still, a happy smile played on her lips.

He found himself flipping back to that picture, because it was the only one that showed Sharon around that age, almost _his_ age. Rusty stared at the photo for a longer time than he had at the rest. She was beautiful back then, too, in a different way than now, and he wondered what her life had been like in high school. There was another photo of her at what must have been her high school graduation, but it was in too large a group and he couldn't tell much. He imagined it must've been good, because she _looked_ happy, and unwillingly he wondered what _he'd_ have looked like if he'd grown up with a family like hers...

She was a few years older in the photo on the next page, maybe nineteen or twenty, and this time Rusty could definitely recognize all her features, although her smile was still wider and easier, and her gaze far less guarded, younger, devoid of that silent, piercing insight that her eyes held now. She was wearing another elegant dress, and had one arm around the waist of a young woman in a wedding gown. Their heads were touching as they both smiled at the camera, and suddenly Rusty recognized 'Aunt Mary-Anne', and realized this must have been at Paul's wedding. Mary-Anne looked happy, of course, and Sharon looked happy _for_ her, and very much at ease as they half-hugged for the picture. Rusty wondered if they were still friends, and he assumed they must be because Mary-Anne had been looking for Sharon only that morning and Sharon had sounded _grateful_, and he was glad to know there was someone else there for her…

…and then he saw it, the first picture of its kind in the album, and it must have been taken at Paul's wedding as well, because Sharon was wearing the same dress, and the man next to her was wearing a formal suit and Rusty knew, he _knew_ it was her father, and not just because they had the same eyes and nose and chin line. They were standing at the edge of a dance floor, and Sharon had one arm through the hook of his elbow, the other on his forearm, and she seemed to be squeezing his arm slightly, playfully. Her body leaned against the man, her shoulder angled just under his, her head was tilted toward him, and in her entire posture there was such an air of reliance and fondness that Rusty felt a sudden knot in his throat, because he'd never, _ever_ seen Sharon that way with _anyone_, back home in LA _or_ here, not with her brother, not even her children… His chest tightened as he truly realized just _how much_ she'd lost, and he knew that what he was seeing in this picture was something Sharon could never get back, from anyone, not for the rest of her life, and how could she _ever_ get over that…?

He couldn't help staring at the photo, and he did so for a long while, until his eyes started burning, and then he let out a sad breath and shifted slightly on the window sill. How unfair it seemed, that even as he watched the captured memory of this close moment between Sharon and her father, she was at the church, or perhaps the cemetery already, saying goodbye to him for the last time. Rusty hadn't thought he could feel any _more_ sympathy for her, but he'd been wrong. As he watched her carefree, playful expression in the photo as she looked up at her father, his heart went out to her, and he didn't really know what he believed about heaven and souls and all that, but a small part of him thought up a silent, desperate plea, that if anyone was really up there looking after their loved ones on earth, they'd look after Sharon today.

* * *

"Mom?"

Sharon turned her head slightly toward her daughter, and she saw the concern in Katie's eyes, and she might have felt touched, or understanding, or regretful, except there was just no more _room_ inside her for any emotions other than the overwhelming sorrow. It pervaded her so deeply that she could barely breathe through the weight.

"Do you need to leave for a minute…?" Katie's kept her voice down to an impossibly-low whisper, but its tone was serious, worried.

Sharon just gave an imperceptible shake of her head, and turned her attention back to the priests, arms wrapped tight around herself as she tried to keep a handle on the suffocating grief by taking slow, controlled breaths.

"…to show mercy to our ancestors, and to remember his holy covenant…"

The words washed over her without her really understanding them. It had been the same in the church, while Father Jameson had gone through the psalms in a monotonous voice, and Sharon hadn't been able to pry her eyes away from the coffin except to check on her mother. Still, the church hadn't been as bad, because her father had still been there, and there had been time yet because the requiem mass was still not the last thing they would get to do together, but this…

"…in holiness and righteousness before him all our days…"

This was really the end of it. In a few short minutes, the burial rites would end and then they'd have to actually lower her father into the ground and just… _leave_ him there, and the thought of that alone sent waves of heated panic through her chest.

Sharon tensed her shoulders, fingers digging painfully into her forearms; she knew that once again she was letting her emotions get the better of her, and that was the selfish thing to do. This wasn't _her_ loss alone, and she was allowing herself to feel as though it was.

Her mother stood only a few steps away, on Paul's left side where Sharon was on his right, and Sharon was grateful to see her brother keeping a firm hold on their mother's arm. On the older woman's other side was Stephanie, who also had an arm around her waist, and Julie next to Stephanie, and Mary-Anne and their two uncles and her cousin standing just behind. Sharon was grateful for all their presences, too, and she was _more_ than grateful for Katie's head against her shoulder, and the awareness that Ricky was just behind them…

…still none of it changed what was happening, and even as she tried to be considerate of the rest of her family and tell herself that this wasn't about _her_, the icy terror of losing her father forever raced through her veins and made her body feel heavy and cut off her air.

Katie squeezed her arm tight and nudged Sharon's shoulder slightly with her head. One hand slipped into her mother's, and Sharon did her best to return the reassuring squeeze, although she didn't think she had any force left in her fingers to do so.

"…by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven, to shine on those living in darkness…"

Her father had always liked the Psalms… but now Sharon couldn't remember which was his favorite, and the realization was unreasonably devastating, and she gritted her teeth and bit her lips and tried to swallow, although even that felt like too much effort…

"… and in the shadow of death…"

A soft, heartbroken gasp escaped her lips, and she _forced_ herself to be quiet, but the words had gotten to the others, as well. Stephanie sniffled audibly and Sharon felt even Paul's shoulder suddenly tense up against hers. A wave of sympathy for her brother washed over her, because their father had always been Paul's hero, and to watch this must have been unbearable for him…

She lay her hand briefly on his arm, and squeezed, and met his eyes when he looked down; there was so much silent sorrow in his gaze that the tears she'd been suppressing so far threatened to spill over. With another effort she held them back, and she gave Paul what she hoped was a supportive look and touched his arm again, and he softly patted her leg with his hand.

A light rain fell, more of a mist than actual rain, not enough to take any measures, but it clung to their skin and clothing, and made everything feel even colder. Sharon couldn't help a long shiver, which left her drained, her body unable to handle even that small energy expense.

Father Connely had paused for a second, giving her family a sympathetic look. Sharon was glad that it was him, at least, who was doing this: almost her father's age himself, he'd known them for decades, and his presence was more of a comfort to her mother than that of any other priest would have been. At his compassionate nod, her mother sobbed softly, silent tears trailing down her cheeks. Sharon stepped slightly in front of Paul so she could meet the older woman's eyes; when she did, she gave an encouraging nod of her own, silently begging her mother to hold on just a little longer, and her mother sighed and squared her shoulders, then looked back at the grave. Sharon followed suit.

It looked almost surreal through the curtain of hazy rain.

_Oh, god, Dad… I miss you so much. _

Sharon shivered again, and was a little startled to feel two hands on her upper arms. Ricky started rubbing gently, in an effort to make her warmer, and it wasn't really working but she tried to give him a thankful smile anyway.

A muted sniffle came from her right shoulder, and Sharon turned her head, her eyes softening as she noticed Katie's tears. Her daughter made a hesitant move to turn away, but Sharon placed a soothing hand on her hair and pulled Katie's head back to her shoulder, and she waited for a few seconds for the younger woman's silent sobs to subside, before she turned and pressed her lips to Katie's forehead.

"It's okay, honey," she whispered, and felt her daughter's arms circle her waist.

Paul glanced over with a sober, concerned look.

Then Father Connelly began to intone, "Eternal rest grant onto him…", and Sharon took a deep breath and braced herself, because she knew this was the very last prayer, and then it would really be over and there would be no other chances to make her peace. She bowed her head and closed her eyes and thought of her father, and tried to find whatever comfort she could in these last few words spoken by his graveside.

* * *

**A/N: Guys, this chapter left *me* a little emotionally drained. I can't believe we made it past the funeral, at long last. And I'm glad to report we might finally be starting the trip back out of the Well of Unending Angst into which I've sunk all our beloved characters. (maybe. I dare make no forecasts!) **

**Please review and let me know your thoughts :). Thank you for reading! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing this story. **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (17)**

Cars had begun pulling up near the cemetery gates toward the end of the service, lining silently along the curb as the old priest intoned the final words. The crowd started to shift slowly when he fell silent, many of them making their way over to the widow with expressions of sympathy and words of comfort. Others addressed the same quiet condolences to the rest of the family, or waited silently on the side lines.

A few more minutes passed, and the rain, which had so far been only a light mist, was picking up. Finally, with a few brief looks and small hand gestures, the family pulled together again one last time before the moment came to leave. They retreated closer to the grave site, away from the crowd, children and siblings and spouses, cousins and uncles, all in one tight group, seeking comfort in their closeness.

Sharon looked up at the sky with a grim expression, as large raindrops began to fall on her skin. She didn't feel ready to go, but they couldn't keep everyone else waiting and there was still the after-burial gathering at the house to get through…

"Okay, Mom, we won't leave yet…" Stephanie's voice was tired, too. They'd all been trying to slowly make Sharon's mother start to leave, but the older woman refused to step away from her husband's grave, her eyes staring at his name carved on the headstone.

Sharon shifted slightly, one hand squeezing her mother's shoulder reassuringly, and she waved off Ricky's umbrella before turning to her brother.

"If you take Mom and Stephanie back in your car, with Julie," she suggested quietly, "we'll go with Mary-Anne." She sighed, making an effort to think about logistics. "Did Jamie bring his car…?"

Paul nodded, glancing at his younger son. "He can take Uncle Peter and Uncle Marcus back."

She looked tiredly at the crowd of funeral-goers, who were waiting respectfully a small distance away. "That still leaves us with a few seats, I'll see who else needs a ride…"

"I'll check," Ricky and Katie said simultaneously, earning themselves a brief nod from Paul and the ghost of a smile from Sharon. "Here, Mom," Ricky once again tried to open the umbrella for her, but she pushed it down with one hand, to stop him.

"There's no point, honey, we're going to the car…"

Without listening to his protest, she walked back over to her mother; Stephanie had still been trying to coax the older woman away from the fresh grave, but it was difficult.

"We can wait," said her sister, but Sharon just shook her head. There was no point in waiting any longer, and no amount of time was going to be enough. She bent slightly and quietly whispered her own entreaties to her mother, and slowly, finally, they all began to make their way toward the gates, even though each step was heavier than the last.

About a dozen or so steps in, Sharon paused to look back at the grave one more time, and she found herself unable to turn back and resume walking away. A second later Ricky walked up to her, one arm sliding around her shoulders as he came close enough, and with the other he opened the umbrella and raised it over both their heads, and they followed the rest of the family away.

* * *

Having witnessed the caterers set up, Rusty had known there would be some sort of reception after the funeral, but he hadn't anticipated that most of the people from this morning would come back. Again a dizzying sea of dark suits had spilled over into the house, and he'd have liked nothing better than to stay out of it, but Lieutenant Flynn had told him to at least make sure Sharon could see him so she wouldn't start to worry about where he was. So Rusty had now willingly placed himself in the midst of the crowd of strangers, standing around a little awkwardly and sticking as close as he could to Lieutenant Flynn while trying not to be too obvious about it.

The Lieutenant himself was being very accommodating in that regard, and didn't seem to mind too much to be followed around. Unfortunately, with that large a gathering, it was only too easy to get waylaid or separated, and people kept getting in the way. On two such occasions Rusty had been made fairly uncomfortable when guests had walked up to him with soft-spoken greetings, because making small talk with strangers out of the blue was definitely not his thing…

Still, he did his best, staying in the room even when he wanted to run and returning awkward greetings when he had to, and trying in all ways not to stand out or break any sort of rules that he wasn't aware of; and in the midst of it all, he constantly tried to spot Sharon and keep an eye on her, because what else could he do…?

* * *

Sharon picked up an empty glass and scooped a couple of ice cubes into it before pouring some sparkling water in from one of the bottles on the side table. A slight tremor went through her as her fingers made contact with the cold glass; she'd rather have had a hot drink, but there was no hot tea out and it was too early to retreat to the kitchen and make some… Most people had only just arrived, and they were seeking out everyone in the family to offer their condolences, and she couldn't just _leave_, even though she did feel an entirely out-of-proportion longing at the thought of a steaming mug of tea to warm her hands…

She grabbed a napkin and slid it under her glass, the flimsy paper a poor barrier from the cold of the ice cubes. But with her decision to forego caffeine, the icy water would at least help keep her more awake, and able to handle the after-burial reception despite the fact that the funeral had left her feeling absolutely drained.

It had also not delivered the promised peace and acceptance, and Sharon was wondering when those would start to set in because she could have really used both. It was hard to decipher _how_ she was feeling, but it definitely wasn't peaceful, _or_ resigned, _or_ comforted. There was still a vague sense of disconnection, and the memory of the funeral felt unreal somehow, even though she'd been there and lived it, and the sight of the headstone, the creaking of the coffin as it was lowered into the ground, the soft ground sinking under her feet and the cold rain that stuck to her skin, all those were real enough. But the sum of them just didn't register properly. Something inside of her still felt locked up.

Two of her parents' old neighbors walked up to her, and Sharon smiled as much as she could and nodded automatically, thanking them for their kind words… and in a way, that did help, because it reminded her of how much everyone loved her father. There were _so many_ people there, and some had come a long way, just to be there one last time for him, and seeing that filled her with an odd sense of gratitude, even as it made it even worse that someone so _loved_ could simply be gone…

There was movement by her left shoulder, and she turned slightly. "Andy." A fleeting smile passed on her lips.

"Sharon." He wore a serious expression, his usual air of wit or sarcasm entirely absent, and there was a softness to his brown eyes as he looked at her. "I'm sorry again about your father."

She dipped her head in a minute nod, then looked up to meet his eyes. "Thank you again for being here. It's…" she hesitated for a moment, then sighed: "I'm very grateful."

Andy nodded, and smiled, and thought that she didn't have any reason to thank him, because she'd have done the same for him. It filled him with sadness, that, only a couple of months before, she had accompanied him to his daughter's wedding, and now here he was with her at her father's funeral. There was a heartbreaking sort of symmetry to it.

A brief silence settled between them, serene rather than uncomfortable; after a few seconds he met her gaze again and asked quietly: "How are you holding up?"

Sharon's eyes flickered away as she considered the question. "Alright, I think," she replied finally, taking a sip from her water glass, and Andy tried to gauge the truthfulness of it, but the most he could tell was that at least _she_ seemed to believe it.

* * *

If he'd thought he'd get a chance to talk to Sharon after the funeral – or just spend some time with her, talking wasn't really a requirement between them – Rusty had been wrong. There were constantly at least a dozen people between him and her, and there were just _too many_ people in general. The throng rippled fluidly from the living room, to the foyer, to the dining room, all of them milling about, speaking in soft tones and smiling sad smiles.

Sharon talked to some of them briefly, but only when _they_ approached _her_, Rusty noticed. The only times she approached anyone, it was her old uncle or her son; other than that she kept to herself, somehow managing a little island in the sea of people, her fingers laced around a water glass, her eyes scanning the crowd constantly for her mother, her brother, her sister…

But they didn't look like they needed her at the moment: her mom – _Elizabeth_, Rusty remembered from the photo albums – was surrounded by a group of older ladies, and Stephanie and Julie were nearby. Paul was talking to his wife and someone else whom Rusty didn't know, and Ricky and Katie were doing just fine speaking to a couple of people their own age by the far wall. But Sharon looked a little fidgety, as though not being able to do anything for any of them made her feel restless or out of place. More than once as she stood her silent watch he saw a flash of pained discomfort cross her face, subtle and fleeting, as though she didn't want to be in the crowd, either.

Her eyes had wandered over him repeatedly, as well, and he was glad he'd taken Lt. Flynn's advice to stay in a place where she could see him, even though each time he felt her gaze on him his cheeks warmed. He was wearing the suit she'd bought him, and he'd had to spend about a million years using Ricky's iron because it turned out suits weren't _meant_ to be rolled up and stuffed in schoolbags… But he hadn't known what _else_ to do when he was getting ready to leave home, and he'd wanted to be prepared! _Now_, he was glad he'd brought the suit, wrinkles and everything, because there was no way any of this normal clothes would've been remotely appropriate for this, and the last thing he'd have wanted was to embarrass Sharon, or worse, make her think he was being disrespectful at her father's wake, or something.

She looked so tired, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin even paler in contrast with the dark clothes she wore. But she kept up a calm expression, her manner composed and restrained, even though it was obvious, _obvious_ that she didn't want a hundred people around. And Rusty couldn't blame her. In her position, he'd have retreated upstairs a long time ago, but of course Sharon stayed, accepting condolences with perfunctory smiles and making small talk and nodding to the strangers who came up to her, while her eyes discreetly wandered across the room every few moments, searching whether there was someone who needed anything, or something to be done.

Their eyes met one of those times, and Rusty had thought he might feel embarrassed at being caught staring at her, but instead when their gazes crossed, he only felt a surge of – well, sympathy, as Lt. Flynn called it. His legs carried him over to her almost before he could fully realize it, and he found himself standing right by her. From up close he could see even better the tension at the corners of her eyes, and the way even her breaths looked effortful, but of course she welcomed him with a warm look.

"Sharon… are – ah…" He trailed off, because 'are you okay' seemed so ridiculous, when obviously she _wasn't_… "I'm…sorry," he said finally, even though he couldn't even say _for what,_ even though it seemed so _little_…

Sharon managed the smallest smile, but didn't say anything for a long moment; when she opened her mouth she didn't seem to know _what_ to say… "Did…" She trailed off, gave another false start, and the most fleeting grimace of discomfort crossed her face again…"How are you, honey?" she settled finally, with a sigh and a tired tilt of her head. "I'm sorry for not checking on you sooner…I… haven't been…"

"It's fine!" He didn't think he could handle hearing her apologize. "I'm fine. I…really, don't worry about me." Her taut expression was making his stomach churn. For some reason his reassurances didn't seem to be enough, because she was still looking a little contrite:

"Rusty," she said softly, "you know I'm … you know you can still come to me for anything you need, right?" And Rusty winced involuntarily, and Sharon must've seen it because dismay flashed over her face…

"I know," he said quickly, "Sharon, I know, okay? I know I can. It's just – this isn't… I don't _need_ anything, alright?" He fidgeted, uncomfortable, but met her eyes anyway with an almost desperate look. "Please… just… what do _you_ need?"

But she only gave him a sad smile and that affectionate look of hers, her expression closing up imperceptibly again, and Rusty felt a pang of unexpected frustration.

* * *

However intimidating, the after-burial gathering at least gave Rusty the first real chance to see all of Sharon's family collected in one place. His eyes followed them curiously around the room, and he began to see how Ricky looked a little like his uncle, and Paul's son looked a little like Sharon's father, and of course Stephanie looked _a lot_ like her mother, with the same frame and the same features and the same blue eyes, their resemblance even more obvious whenever they stood next to each other.

Sharon still looked different from the two of them, to the point where he really could see _no_ family resemblance at all, and Rusty couldn't help but wonder if _that_ was why her mother treated her with less affection than she showed Stephanie…it seemed like such a stupid reason, it wasn't as though Sharon could help which side of the family she took after…! Besides, Katie looked almost nothing like Sharon, and Sharon still loved her! He just didn't understand, what _was_ it with Sharon and her mother, and _how_ could they be so different, and –

Then a hoot of strident laughter echoed in a corner of the room, and Rusty noticed a strange occurrence.

He'd have missed it, if not for the fact that he was watching them all so intently.

The discordant cackle had lasted only a few seconds, and even though it was loud and jarring and inappropriate, most of the people hadn't paid much attention or shown any reaction.

But Sharon's eyes glided swiftly to the source of the laughter, her expression one of polite reserve. Some distance away, Katie fully turned around, an indignant scowl on her face. Across the room, Elizabeth craned her neck a little to see around her friends, with a searching look.

And then all three of them zeroed in on the source, Sharon with her deceptively dispassionate gaze and Katie with her disapproving scowl and Elizabeth with a sort of distant interest, and they stared in silence at the woman who was laughing… until, even though she was obviously tipsy and didn't give a damn, she began to squirm uncomfortably, and finally under their silent scrutiny she had to make her way out of the room, her posture considerably cowed.

Sharon, her mother and her daughter kept staring for a moment in the direction of the obnoxious woman, then to Rusty's surprise they automatically glanced at each other, even though they were standing in opposite corners of the room and he had no idea how or why they'd known to do that.

He didn't think anyone else had noticed the strange episode. Yet somehow, he doubted there would be another unwise guest to repeat the faux-pas. The atmosphere had shifted imperceptibly, as if the crowd that had for a moment threatened to swell out of control was now suddenly subdued again, a hundred guests brought back in check so swiftly and unobtrusively that none of them were even aware that it had happened.

* * *

A couple of hours into the reception, Rusty had reached his limit for social interaction. True, no one had tried to force any more unwanted conversation on him after the obnoxious younger priest who'd started asking uncomfortable questions(Rusty had steered clear of the man – Father Jameson – since), but even the occasional kindly greeting from some elderly neighbor, or the inescapable snippets of small talk were starting to wear on him. Besides, he'd lost sight of Sharon, and Lt. Flynn had gone out to take a phone call, and Rusty thought maybe this was a good time to take a break from all the agitation…

He was proud of himself when he managed to make his way over to the kitchenette at the other end of the house, but after a couple of minutes and a soda, he decided even that wasn't private enough. The back door was right by the kitchenette, as Katie had shown him, and though he hesitated a little at the memory of just how _cold_ it was outside (what was _up_ with Minnesota weather, anyway?), the need for a little peace and quiet won out.

So he slipped out the back door, breathing in the fresh air and the smell of the forest, glad to have at least a few minutes away from the constant murmur and unsettling stares of a hundred somber strangers. He didn't dare venture away from the house, so he just sat on the back steps, right under the window, grateful that his suit jacket was just warm enough in the scarily chilly September afternoon.

The back of the house looked over a wide yard, with soft mounds of grassy earth here and there, and fifty or so yards away it transitioned smoothly into a small wooded area, which Rusty knew was just a thin strip that separated Sharon's parents' property from the neighbors'.

The yard itself looked almost like a meadow, only more neatly kept and with a few more signs of a human presence, like a small flower garden right behind the house, and a wooden shed of sorts somewhere to the left. There were also a couple of cars parked on the far side, although he thought they wouldn't normally have been there, but today the household had needed the room in the driveway…

There were a few small trees around the edges of the property, trees that Rusty couldn't recognize although maybe their fruit looked like smaller, greener apples (so maybe they were some sort of wild apple tree variety?), and there were leafy, flowery shrubs here and there. But what drew his attention most was a majestic tree, a couple of dozen yards away from the house, and Rusty had no idea what kind of tree it was or how old, but it would've taken three of him to encircle its trunk, so he imagined it must've been _pretty_ old… After some study, he noticed a few strings on one of the lower branches, clear signs that one day, a swing had hung there, and his mind went back to the pictures in the photo album and he wondered if a young Sharon had ever asked her brother to push her on the swing…

Hesitantly, he started to walk across the soft grass, until he reached the base of the tree. It looked ever older from up close, its bark hard and rough and wrinkled. Rusty had to smile at the etchings in the bark, clumsy and deep and determined, especially at the one that looked like an inverted 'S' – he wondered if it had been Sharon or her sister trying to leave her mark that way.

Stepping on the other side of the tree he was surprised to notice a few dry flowers on a spot at the bottom. It looked like someone had laid them there, some time previous, and there was even a small jar of water with a couple of more flowers in it, and a miniature glass-painted icon, it's colors vivid against the ground. It looked almost as a homage of sorts, though to whom, Rusty couldn't imagine – it can't have been to Sharon's father because the flowers looked older than a few days, and everything looked as though it had been there for a while. Maybe it was a family tradition or something. Maybe he could ask Sharon…

The air was getting a little chilly, even through his suit, but it wasn't too bad yet. He took a few more steps, walking almost to the edge of the patch of woods, and it smelled like grass and damp earth and it was so eerily quiet… but he liked it. He'd never really imagined himself living anywhere but California, but maybe one day… that is, if his messed-up life as a witness was ever _over_, which was looking increasingly unlikely, but _if_… then, maybe _one_ day…

There was sudden movement in the corner of his eye, and he jumped, only to notice a small, brown rabbit a few yards away, right between the woody area and the yard. The rabbit startled when Rusty did, and it took off running, and Rusty couldn't help a grin because it was a little ridiculous that they'd scared each other. At least _he_ hadn't run… a while ago, he'd been just like that rabbit, taking off in a panic at the slightest provocation, but _now_… Rusty thought that maybe now he'd stopped running. Or at least, he'd stopped running away.

Maybe now he had something to run _to_, for a change.

A sharp voice drifted to him, and his head automatically turned toward the house. The wind rustled through the leaves of the majestic tree, but even above that he could hear voices coming from the kitchenette window, and they were tense, agitated. His heart picked up when he thought he recognized Sharon, and she sounded annoyed, _distressed_ – he turned on his heels and hurried back toward the house, because _what_ was making her _sound_ like this? There was another voice too, unhappy and angry, and he could start to make out the words and he picked up the pace even more…

" – _tell mom to plan better next time!_"

The voice was like the crack of a whip, even though it broke slightly at the end, and Rusty instinctively slowed down a little… and then the worst sound he'd ever, _ever_ heard shattered the silence, a long, heartbroken sob that sucked the air out of his lungs and left him frozen, and it seemed to draw out forever, growing anguished, convulsive, and he'd have given anything, anything in the world to make it stop.

* * *

**A/N: Don't kill me for leaving it there! **

**Thank you for reading :) you know I love reviews more than Sharon loves the 'Nutcracker' (which I think we can assume is now climbing in the ranks of her preferences, right?) **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Speediest update ever! I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long. This entire chapter basically shows the events leading up to the cliffhanger from last chapter (and, the resolution, because I don't want anyone coming after me with pitchforks and torches!). Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and continued support of this story :). **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (18)**

Under the pretext of going to wash her empty water glass, Sharon had slipped out of the living room. Her steps slower than normal and her head heavy, she'd made her way over to the kitchenette, where at least the nauseating murmur of the crowd of mourners was no longer audible.

After a couple of hours of constant noise and a stream of people, she'd lost interest in – and the ability to – hold up her end of the social obligations of the after-burial gathering. And she hadn't been the only one, either… the afternoon was stretching on too long and wearing on everyone in the family.

So there she was, some few minutes later, water running loudly from the tap, both _too_ loud for her exhaustion-enhanced senses, _and_ somehow not loud _enough_, streaming in lukewarm rivulets over the glass that really was more than clean by now.

She heard the footsteps after turning off the water. Looking over her shoulder, she saw her sister, who had stopped hesitantly in the doorway, seemingly torn between staying and going.

"Oh – I thought Mom was here."

Sharon tiredly reached for the kitchen cloth. "I sent her upstairs to get some rest…"

Stephanie's shoulders slumped slightly, and she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Of course you did."

Sharon's eyes flickered up from the glass she was wiping, but she refrained from any comment. Her sister watched her silently for a few seconds, one shoulder leaning against the wall, then she shook her head and half-turned to leave the kitchenette.

"I'm just trying to take care of her, same as you," Sharon said, even though she knew she should have stayed quiet.

Irritation flashed briefly over Stephanie's features, and for a moment she looked like she was trying to abstain from making a reply, but she failed: "Do you ever consider 'taking care' of someone on _their_ terms, not _yours_?"

This time, Sharon bit her lips to keep from replying. She put the glass away with deliberate movements, then turned to leave; to do so, however, she had to walk past Stephanie, who on reading her intentions, darkly pointed out:

"Guess you've decided for both of us that this conversation is over."

Sharon paused. "What do you want to me to do, Steffi – apologize for wanting my mother to take a break after today? She's eighty-five years old."

"I'm aware of Mom's age," her sister retorted, "and I don't want you to apologize, just maybe _for once_," her eyebrows arched in annoyance, "let someone do their own thinking instead of doing it for them!"

"Mom just buried her husband of sixty-five years! I don't think she wants to be doing a lot of thinking right now."

"Well, lucky she has you to step in for her, then."

It was always like this, when it happened. She really should have stayed quiet.

Sharon let out a long breath, her eyes closing briefly. When she spoke again, her tone had lost its sharp edge. "Steffi, I'm not doing this right now. We're both…" she sighed, "You know it's not a good time."

Her sister rolled her eyes again, and sighed as well. "I just can't believe you, Sharon," she said. "You haven't changed at all – you're… I forgot how _frustrating_ it was to watch you try to march in and take charge. Last night, this morning, in church – _all_ _the_ _time_…!"

"I'm not trying to take charge of anything," Sharon reverted to her aloof voice, her gaze turning irritated, "I'm just trying to…do what's best for everyone, in an awful situation."

"Oh my god – what _you think_ is best! That's the _problem_! You're so convinced you can always find the right thing to do, for everyone!" Stephanie threw her hands up. "Mom didn't want to take the car to church. She didn't want to leave the cemetery when we did. And I bet she didn't want to 'go upstairs to rest' – you just browbeat her into it! And she went with it because she always does everything you want," she finished bitterly, and her sister's expression melted into outraged disbelief.

* * *

"Everything – I hope you're _joking_," Sharon's voice came out in a shocked gasp. "Mother does everything _you_ want, Steffi, she always has. Every _single_ thing you ever ask for, no matter how crazy or immature or just. plain. _stupid_, she goes out of her way to give you. _Everything!_ For fifty _years_ –and you're angry because she did what _I_ asked this time, and went to get some _rest_?" She was a mixture of disbelief and fury.

_"_I'm_ angry_," Stephanie retorted, "because you spent every second since you got here pushing everyone around, _especially_ Mom, who can never say 'no' to you! Take a goddamn _break_, Sharon, would you?"

"She can never say no to _me_?" Sharon's voice was again a low, incredulous murmur.

"Oh I know Mom always tries to give me what I want_ – for myself,_" said Stephanie, "but when was the last time she actually took my opinion over yours? She didn't go to see the doctor for her arrhythmia until _you_ told her to. And when did she decide to retire from the foundation? When did they sell the condo – even though I thought they shouldn't? Who first mentioned the idea of selling _this house_?"

"I am not going to apologize," Sharon said coolly, "for offering my opinion on the best course of action_, especially_ not when that opinion is _asked_ for."

Stephanie scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I hate to break it to you, but don't 'offer your opinion', Sharon. You deign to impart the ultimate uncontested truth of things on the rest of us!"

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "I'm not having this argument with you again. Not today."

"Fine," her sister agreed, "then stop bossing Mom – and everyone _else_, for that matter – around. You don't know what's best for everyone, so for one _day_ would you stop acting like you do."

Sharon opened her mouth to argue back, then forcefully cut herself off. She put a hand against the counter, and let out a deep breath instead. "Steffi, I know you're upset about…" She swallowed. "I know you're angry, but this isn't making anything better. Let's just… let's just take a few minutes," she suggested wearily, "have a chance to calm down. You can go upstairs and check on Mom if you want, I'm sure she'll –"

"Oh my god, you're doing it _again_!" Stephanie slapped a hand to her forehead, in exasperation. "Stop trying to fix everything and come up with solutions _for everyone_! This isn't your goddamn police station!"

Sharon gritted her teeth. "I'm just trying to avoid an _unnecessary_. _argument_," she said with forced calm. "We're both upset, and taking it out on each other isn't going _to help_, since none of what's happening is actually your fault _or_ mine… "

"What's _happening_ is that you're incapable of walking into a situation without trying to take over and make it into what _you_ think it _should_ be!" Stephanie's eyebrows drew into an irate scowl. "Dad's funeral isn't about _you_, Sharon, and he would've been _furious_ to see you bullying mom into doing whatever you want!"

"I'm not bullying my mother into _anything_," Sharon retorted in a quietly angry tone, "I've barely even gone _near_ her, trying to give her the time she wants with _you_, because she's _always_ _so_ happy to see you and I thought it would _help_ –"

"That's the _point_," Stephanie's hands waved wildly in her indignation, "did you even bother to ask Mom what she _actually_ wanted or needed? _No_! You just _marched_ in here and decided you know the best way to 'help' and tried to take control of everything! For god's sake Sharon, you went to check the property tax forms and the goddamn electric panels _before you even went to your room and changed!_"

"Mom _asked_ me to check them!" Sharon defended.

"No, _she_ asked if they were taken care of, and Paul had _already_ done that, but no, you had to go and do it over…!"

Sharon pressed her lips together, letting out a slow breath to force her tone down a notch. "Mom was feeling anxious about them so yes, I went and took a look," she acknowledged, "so I could tell her that it was all fine, and that helped her stop worrying so I'm not going to _feel_ bad for putting her mind at ease."

"You weren't doing it to put _her_ mind at ease," groaned Stephanie, "you were doing it because you can't _conceive_ not fixing every problem, finding the best way do to everything! Look at today," she exclaimed when Sharon was about to protest again, "you spent the whole _day_ telling Mom what to do, where to go, where to sit, when to leave, when to rest –"

"I'm trying to take care of her."

"No, this is what you _do_, to _everyone_, all the time, and they all _let_ you," another furious hand wave, "because you're _so_ goddamn convinced that you know what's best for everyone, that you've got all of _them_ convinced, too!" She glowered. "Not everyone has to do things your way, okay?"

"I don't care _how_ you do things, Steffi," Sharon retorted tiredly, and replacing the kitchen cloth on the counter, she again made a move to leave the room – and the conversation. "And I don't think it's fair for you to be taking your anger out on me."

"You're unbelievable, Sharon." Stephanie didn't try to stop her, but instead only shook her head, with a horrified sort of wonder. "You actually can't even entertain the _notion_ that you might be wrong here."

Sharon paused in her tracks again. "I'm perfectly capable of seeing when I'm wrong," she replied in a forcedly patient tone, "but in this instance – we're not arguing because we're angry at _each other_, Steffi, we're doing this –"

"I _am_ angry with you!" Stephanie erupted, and her fists clenched as she glared at her sister. "You were going to miss dad's funeral!"

* * *

"I can't believe you're still standing here arguing that you _don't_ have everyone falling in line at a snap of your fingers."

Sharon's arms had wrapped around herself when her sister had brought up the funeral, and she'd leaned back instinctively.

"You were going to _miss Dad's funeral_," Stephanie repeated incredulously. "Me, I'd do that and get _disowned_ but _you_ do it and suddenly everyone's going out of their way to accommodate you and your drama! And then you have the nerve to show up and _still_ try to take over, you didn't even _apologize_!"

"I –"

"Do you have _any_ idea what was going on here while you were too busy with your all-important job and your major crises? It was _chaos_, we had to find rooms for two dozen people from one day to the next, everything had to be rescheduled, Father Connelly had to put in a word with the _Bishop_, Paul send a goddamn _military airplane_ after you?!"

Sharon let out a short breath. "I didn't ask – I didn't _know_ about… I didn't mean for…" She paused, swallowed hard, and recovered. "I only found out that Mom and Paul moved the funeral after the fact. It was _never_ my plan or intention for _any_ of that to happen."

"No, your plan was to miss the funeral altogether," Stephanie said bitterly. "You weren't even going to be here. How do you think Mom felt about that?"

"Do you think I _wanted_ that, Stephanie?" gasped Sharon. "I had no _choice_."

"And yet here you are, a day later, only _after_ making everyone dance to your tune. What the hell makes it okay, Sharon," her sister demanded angrily, "for you to expect _everyone_ to wait for you like this?"

"I don't –"

"_All the time_!" insisted Stephanie. "You're _always_ expecting everyone to mind you, everyone to wait, everyone to listen – when's the last time _you_ stopped to listen to someone _else_ for a change, instead of charging ahead like a goddamn prize bull!"

Sharon's patience evaporated into incredulity again. "_I_ never listen? _I _have a – a stable job, a house, a… retirement fund! _I_ don't traipse around the globe like a hippie…troubadour in a perpetual midlife crisis! And don't talk to me about _not being here_!"

"Oh, that makes it okay then to tell everyone what to do," Stephanie retorted sarcastically, "the perfect Sharon Raydor, with her respectable job and her bank account and her oh so adult decisions! I'm sure mom and dad made the comparison at holidays and you always came out on top."

"_Me_! Every single holiday Steffi, every _single_ one they'd wait for you like for some sort of.. Messiah! Looking at the rest of us and praying that _you'd_ make it, from whatever hare-brained trip you were on! They'd wait –"

"Because I didn't make it home so often," her sister retorted, tears in her eyes, "but how many times did they put off a single holiday for _me_! How many times did they wait even a single extra day so I could make it for the main event! But you," she railed, "you get stuck at work and they move Christmas! You decide to have some sort of … hysteria attack this week and they _move dad's funeral_! To wait for you! Because nothing can happen with you to preside over it! I bet you were just _pissed_ when dad didn't die _on your schedule_! Maybe we should tell mom to plan better next time!"

Sharon burst into tears.

The raw, disconsolate sob ripped out of her throat without warning, and then she couldn't stop it. She turned on her heels, one hand flying to her mouth and she tried, _tried_ to contain herself, but her body just _refused_ to listen. Long, racking sobs wrenched from her despite the hand pressed hard against her mouth, and she gripped the edge of the counter and doubled over in an attempt to silence the anguish that seemed to be bursting out from the very core of her being.

To no avail. Even as she locked her throat and gritted her teeth, the spasms and tears kept coming, and the effort of trying to curb the uncontrollable crying sent her body into near-convulsions. She let herself slide down by the sink, one arm going across her stomach, and she bunched up the kitchen cloth and buried her face into it in an effort to at least be _quiet..._

"God. I'm a vicious old woman."

Another sob came out of Sharon, because that wasn't true at all, and –

"Don't you shake your goddamn head," Stephanie said quietly. "I'm a nasty old cow." There was a pause, then: "I hit menopause, you know."

And Sharon couldn't hold back a choked sort of snort at that, even though her body was still shaking, and Stephanie lowered her face in her hands and then they were both laughing and crying at the same time…

Sharon kept both hands clenched tight around the kitchen cloth, her face still buried in it as the sobs continued, and even though they were muted now, she couldn't _stop_, she didn't understand why but she just _couldn't_. Time after time she tried to take a breath and cease but each time it only got worse, as though with every breath there was _more_ inside her trying to make its way out…

Stephanie let herself slide down next to Sharon, knees to her chest, and she just sat there for a few seconds, then quietly leaned her temple against Sharon's arm, and Sharon let out another strangled sob and half-turned toward her, arms going slowly around her sister's neck as she buried her face in Stephanie's shoulder.

* * *

Again she didn't know how long it had been, maybe minutes, maybe longer, or less, she couldn't tell. Her body was still heaving with the silent sobs, and she wasn't even trying to stop the deluge of emotions anymore. It just went on, even, self-fueling, her face turned into the crook of her elbow, hidden by a curtain of hair that blocked out the light and made it even harder to remember that there was a world out there waiting…

Stephanie's smaller body was still curled up beside her, one hand on Sharon's shoulder as both of them sat on the floor by the sink, while the afternoon sun bathed the west-facing room in a copper glow.

"Here, honey." Sharon could feel something being pressed into her hand, some soft, dry paper, and she clenched her fingers around it, but wiping at her tears was proving a Sisyphean effort because they just kept pouring out… and it wasn't even just her father, because at times she'd thought she had _that_ pain under control but then _more_ thoughts would come unbidden to her head, about _everything_, the funeral and the letters and the fact that soon she'd have to go back and leave her mother and not see her children and deal with the fallout and…

"God," she breathed shakily, bewildered at her own reactions. "I can't– " her voice caught on another quiet sob, "oh my god I can't make it _stop_…"

Sharon lifted her head from her arms and cleaned her tears again with the soft paper, and gasped and shivered and sobbed again, wiping at her eyes. Next to her, Stephanie blew her nose.

"I think we need a drink," she sighed. "Here…" She handed Sharon another, clean tissue, and grabbed the edge of the counter with one hand to stand up.

Sharon shifted her own body, placing one hand flat against the floor to push herself to her feet; but when Stephanie got a good look at her, the younger woman grimaced expressively and groaned.

"Okay, _you_ just sit there for another second," she reconsidered, "let's not make this day any worse… you know how Mom feels about blood on her refinished floors." Sharon let out a weak huff that might have indicated amusement, and tiredly rested her back against one of the cabinet doors, forehead dropping into her hands again, while her sister walked over to open the fridge door.

Stephanie took a long look inside the fridge, then glanced back over her shoulder at Sharon.

"Crap orange soda, Coke, some toxic-looking blue thing and diet root beer," she deadpanned. "And this is why Jules and Ricky should never be allowed to stock the drinks."

She pulled a can of Coke and poured it into two glasses, filling each only about halfway up, then returned to Sharon's side and handed over one of the glasses. They sat in silence for a long moment, Stephanie wiping her own eyes a few more times, the room quiet enough that they could hear the soda bubbles rising to the surface.

"You're right," Sharon said quietly. "I never did boss dad around. He –" Her voice broke, and she could feel tears pooling in her eyes once more. " – he's the only one whose opinion I thought I could take above my own…" She turned her face away again, the hand that clutched the tissue covering her mouth.

Stephanie stared into her glass. "Yeah, well…" she sighed, "dad's gone now." She sniffled, bit her lips, and turned her head to Sharon. "But if you ever need someone to tell you that you're wrong and they're right, I'm always delighted to oblige you."

They both laughed again, a small, wistful sound.

Then Sharon turned back to face her sister, and her expression was unspeakably pained again.

"I'm sorry for being so… for not knowing how to…." She shook her head, another few tears spilling over. "I'm so sorry that I – I held everything up – and…" her lips pressed together for a moment, but she kept going, "made you feel that I'm disrespecting Dad, and … that I made everyone _wait_ –" her voice broke, " –all the time, I'm so sorry…"

And Stephanie rolled her eyes.

"Please," she scoffed. "They wait for you Sharon because all your life you were there for everyone," she said plainly. "You'd bend over backwards, do a goddamn backflip and land in a handstand to make it when and where you'd said you'd be. Mom and dad, and _all of us_ know that. I knew it earlier, too, I was just…" She shook her head, her expression earnest. "Everyone waits for you because they know you put so much effort to come through, that it's the least they can do to meet you halfway every now and then. And – would you _stop_ with the _headshaking_," she growled, slightly exasperated again. "_God_, Sharon. Maybe you _should_ give the 'hippie troubadour' lifestyle a try…I think it might be good for you."

* * *

**A/N: We'll go back to seeing how everyone else (i.e. Rusty) is doing, in the next chapter. And we will get a couple of scenes with Sharon's mom, including one where she meets Rusty. Any other family interactions that you'd like to see (not counting Sharon/Rusty - they're coming), this is the time to suggest them :). **

**Thank you for reading! I love your reviews more than Sharon loves the mental health industry ;) (guess who was just rewatching that episode)  
**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Sorry for the two-week delay in posting this chapter! As you can imagine, holiday season is both wonderful and slightly hectic. Hope you all had a merry Christmas (if you celebrate it!) and that you have a happy new year (same!) and generally that you're having a lovely winter month! (unless you're in the southern hemisphere, in which case can I come visit you because i've had enough of shoveling my car out from under snow most mornings :P.) **

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (19)**

Rusty had meant to slip in through the front door unnoticed, but he was too flustered to watch where he was going, and he'd misjudged the amount of force needed to open the massive door. His entry into the house was less the discreet affair he'd been hoping for, and more an ungainly blunder.

A few of the guests in the foyer gave him odd sideways glances, which the boy ignored as he tripped over his own feet in a hurry to get to the staircase and retreat upstairs.

The echo of Stephanie's words was on continuous replay in his head.

He couldn't understand the things she'd said, how she could even say something _so_… he'd been completely thrown, hearing the tail end of her accusations, and she sounded _so angry_… and he'd never thought someone could ever speak to Sharon that way, the words so vicious, so _brutal_…

But _then_… yes, the shock of Stephanie's words had frozen him, but then, what had happened next, _that,_ Rusty understood even less.

He slammed the bedroom door behind him with a pang of relief and went straight to the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass as he tried to put the awful, awful sound of Sharon's crying out of his mind.

His cheeks burned and his ears buzzed and his hair was in his eyes, and part of him wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark hole and never come out.

He'd rarely felt so torn before in his life, as he had earlier on the back porch of Sharon's parents' house. Torn between getting closer and getting away, between wanting to offer comfort and wanting to offer privacy. Between feeling outraged and feeling sorry. His emotions had run the gamut: one moment he'd been furious because how could _anyone_ be so callous to Sharon, and the next he'd been stricken, and then he'd been bewildered and _then_…

He just didn't know what to think.

Rusty didn't know much about siblings. He didn't have any – didn't want any, either, and if, as a child, he'd sometimes wondered what that would be like, those thoughts were quickly snuffed out by the thought that his wasn't a life he would wish on a younger sibling. Even more so once he'd grown up and … well, it was a good thing that his mother had only had one child.

But it also meant just another gaping hole in his understanding of how families worked.

He'd barely given Sharon's relationship with Stephanie a thought, since he'd arrived. They looked nothing alike, and they acted completely opposite from each other, and sure, he knew they were sisters but somehow it hadn't sunk in just what that _meant_…

The door opened abruptly and Rusty jumped and instinctively scrambled back a few steps, feeling for some reason as though he'd been caught doing something illicit… because it really wasn't any of his business, none of this, but he couldn't help thinking about it, or wanting to know, or _caring_…

"Oh – uh, hi. Didn't realize you were in here." Ricky gave him a slightly cautious smile. "Have you seen Mom?"

Rusty couldn't stop the blood from rushing to his face, or the way his features dissolved into a grimace. His heart picked up again and there was a knot in his throat and he imagined he must've looked pretty weird, as Sharon's son was giving him a slightly baffled look…

"Uh…no," he managed after a few seconds, because maybe he didn't fully understand the argument or the whole sibling thing but he was pretty sure that Sharon didn't want her son – or _anyone_ – barging in on her and Stephanie right now. His stomach flipped again as he couldn't help thinking about what he'd heard and _how_ did something like that make sense?

Yet in some weird way, it did.

People got angry at each other, they lashed out and said things, awful things, and they hurt each other, and that happened all the time but sometimes…

…sometimes…

…sometimes people could still find each other past the angry words and hurtful shouting. Sometimes maybe it was worth the risk of having someone who knew all your buttons. Sometimes, it seemed, it was possible to get angry and say awful things and _still_ do the right thing in the end. Sharon and Stephanie had, at least, or so Rusty thought. So he hoped. So it had sounded...

It was a long time before he was able to stop thinking about the argument, and before the knot in his stomach relaxed in the least.

* * *

Sharon had thought she'd been exhausted _before_, but this was a whole new level of tired; her body simply had no energy left to even move. Just relocating from the floor to one of the chairs at the table had been nearly too much effort. And through it all, she was distantly aware that the kitchenette wasn't exactly a secluded private island, and anyone could wander in at any time, and _still_ she couldn't entirely regain any amount of composure.

She buried her face tiredly in her arms.

It was as though the awfulness of everything had hit her, again and more forcefully than before. The shielding numbness had been stripped away somehow, too far out of her reach to get it back. Reality was slowly sinking in _again_, and this time it felt different, though she couldn't tell how. She didn't think she felt _better_, but there was…something.

At the very least she was glad her sister was there, even though the argument had left them both drained, and this must have been by far the worst fight she'd _ever_ had with Steffi, but _even so_ Sharon was glad. And grateful, for Steffi's presence and the drinks she'd gotten them, and for her good sense to close the door and her willingness to provide a steady supply of tissues…

…actually, now that Sharon thought about it, the tissues felt a little…

…weird.

Her hand clenched around the dry, spongy paper, and she lifted her head from her arms. "Are these _Swiffer wipes_?"

Her sister shrugged unapologetically. "They were handy. And I didn't know where the actual paper towels were. And hey," she arched her eyebrows, "at least they're the dry kind."

A shaky snort escaped Sharon.

Stephanie managed a small smile of her own, then she let out a tired sigh. "I'm too old for all this, Shar," she murmured. "How bad do you think it'll look if we don't go back in there?"

Sharon's grimace was answer enough, but after a moment she nodded slowly. "You can go upstairs," she offered, "I'll take care –"

Stephanie whacked her over the wrist with the dish towel. "Don't start again."

And Sharon nodded a couple of times in silent acknowledgment.

"I was hoping this would be one of those cases where it's okay to exploit the kids," her sister sighed once more. "You know they could handle everyone just fine."

Another silent assent.

"Did you see them at the service today?" Stephanie continued after a moment, in a softer voice. "They were so on top of everything. I mean, I'm used to Jules being the responsible one," she smiled a little sadly, "but it hit me today that they're really grown-ups now. And Ricky and Katie," she met Sharon's eyes, "they're such good kids. Did you notice Ricky fixing Uncle Peter's cane when the tip loosened on the way to the cemetery? And when he pulled the Martins' car up for them?"

Sharon nodded, a tender smile forming on her own lips.

"And those kids," her sister shook her head, "they worship you." She looked pensive. "You're a good mom, Sharon."

"So are you," Sharon said softly.

Stephanie smiled, and let her head fall back for a second. "I'm a lucky mom..." She chuckled: "My Jules was _born_ a grown-up. I worry sometimes, though…" She sighed, and Sharon patted her hand.

"I know. But she's doing great," offered Sharon. "Julie's such a bright, capable young woman…"

"I know… it's weird, I used to be a lot less worried about her, but in the last couple of years it's just…" Stephanie grimaced. "Am I turning into one of those old nagging mothers with nothing better to do than butt into their daughters' lives?"

Sharon managed a small chuckle. "Probably. But I'm afraid it's a fate hard to avoid."

"I'll make sure to tell her you said that."

They both smiled again, and there was a brief moment of silence, while Stephanie took a sip from her glass and Sharon exhaled slowly, her gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

Then Stephanie put the glass down and titled her head a little curiously. "Speaking of kids…" Her eyebrows arched slightly. "What's the deal with the newest addition? Since when does your police job include babysitting?"

Unexpectedly, Sharon felt her eyes burning again, and she didn't know _why_, except the question brought back thoughts of everything that was waiting for her and Rusty back home, and how uncertain it all was, and her barriers must've _really_ been down because the tears were welling up before she could stop them.

Her sister grimaced.

"Okay – you know what, never mind. I don't need to hear about it right now. Here, honey… have another Swiffer wipe."

* * *

"Sorry, I uh, don't know where Sharon is." Which was _kind of_ true; truer, in any case, than when he'd told Ricky the same thing half an hour before. At this point there was no way to tell for sure whether Sharon was still in the kitchenette or if she might've gone somewhere else.

Either way, Rusty hoped she was alright.

He wished he could've known that for a fact. But he didn't think Sharon wanted company at the moment. And he wouldn't have known what to say to her, anyway.

Although, knowing the right words to say somehow seemed less and less important…

Katie looked disappointed. "I thought she went upstairs with grandma, but grandma's asleep and Mom isn't there _or_ in her room…"

"Maybe she wanted some… privacy," the boy offered, a little surprised to find himself volunteering any opinion. It may have been a first since his arrival at the house.

The young woman didn't seem to notice that, but she did flash him a bleak glance. "Maybe…" She didn't look happy at the prospect of Sharon wanting to be left alone, which Rusty half-understood, because _not_ doing anything was a lot harder sometimes.

That was kind of why he'd ended up in Minnesota in the first place.

He leaned a little awkwardly against the open door to Paul's old bedroom, and watched Katie pacing the floor. The motion was more agitated than Sharon's usually reserved body language, but the concentrated crease between Katie's eyebrows was identical to her mother's.

The sound of a vibrating cell went off, and the young woman reached into one of her pockets, then she frowned and reached into another, pulling out a familiar-looking phone.

"It's Mom's," she acknowledged to Rusty's questioning look. "I think it fell out of her coat pocket when we got home, I found it earlier." She'd _planned_ to give it back, but there had been too many other things to do, and the damn thing kept going off and Katie _knew_ how her mom was about work things…and she didn't think the extra pressure was needed at the moment.

Again Rusty found himself in full agreement with her unspoken thoughts. "If there's like, a big case emergency or something, they know to call Lt. Flynn," he offered.

"That's what I'm thinking..." Katie started to head out of the room, but she kept talking to him, and so the boy found himself having to follow her to keep in earshot. "The battery's nearly dead, anyway, I'll see if I can find Mom's charger…" She sighed tiredly. "I was using it earlier, but I have no idea what I did with it."

As she spoke, she walked into the room she shared with Sharon; Rusty stopped unsurely in the doorway.

Even at home, he was a little wary of going into Sharon's bedroom (not that that stopped him from barging in there whenever he felt the situation required it, such as when he'd thought there was an intruder in the house… or when the wireless password had automatically reset at midnight one day, right in the middle of his downloading his favorite album, and okay, _maybe_ he could've thought better about it before knocking and waking Sharon up, but did she _have_ to withhold the password for a whole weekend after that…!).

The prospect of going into her room at her parents' house was a lot more daunting, especially since she wasn't even in there and he felt unaccountably invasive. His whole stay at the house felt like one breach of Sharon's privacy after another, and he didn't _mean_ to keep doing it, but everything was _right there_, her family and her relationships and this whole _life_ of hers he'd never really known and how was he supposed to avoid it?

Katie just went inside the room and kept talking, and there was nothing to do but follow her, because standing self-consciously in the doorway would've just led to _more_ awkwardness…

But like, he totally _would've_ avoided it if he could've.

An unexpected wave of sadness washed through Rusty as he thought that, and he had to admit to himself that okay, maybe he wasn't trying all _that_ hard to stay out of Sharon's personal business.

But he still felt bad about it.

But…not _too_ bad.

Ugh, he was just really, really awful at figuring out the whole boundaries thing.

"Rusty…?"

The call pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see Katie giving him a slightly confused look. She must've been talking for a while, and he'd completely missed everything she'd said. He cleared his throat and took another step into the room and hurried to help her look around for the phone charger.

* * *

Sharon's old room didn't look like any teenager's room that Rusty ever seen (which granted, wasn't all that many in real life, pretty much just his and Kris's and those of Lt. Tao's kids…), but then he realized that her parents might have done some redecorating since she'd moved out a million years ago. (There was a mysterious warning bell in his head at the last part of that thought, but he wasn't sure why, only that he shouldn't let Sharon hear him say it out loud.) In fact, the room looked a little like Sharon's guest bedroom had looked, when he'd first moved in with her: comfortable and tidy but with the air of not being inhabited on a regular basis.

When he looked more carefully, though, there were a lot of small traces in this bedroom that spoke of its past. A couple of old jewelry boxes sat on the vanity table next to an ivory-and-silver brush set, and assorted trinkets decorated the window sill and the nightstand and the top of the wardrobe. They were things that held no meaning to Rusty, a small framed painting and a tiny stone turtle and lots of little boxes whose purpose he couldn't even begin to guess because they didn't look big enough to hold _anything_. But he imagined they all meant something to Sharon. There were also a couple of faded stickers on the headboard of the bed, and he couldn't help a smirk because Sharon was _so adamant_ about the whole sticker thing and lo and behold.

Katie's suitcase was in the corner, and judging by the way it stood open, clothes and cosmetics and cables flung haphazardly in and on and around it, Rusty couldn't say he was surprised that Katie couldn't find the charger. Not that he was one to talk, exactly: he was hardly the epitome of tidiness, as Sharon occasionally reminded him. The little jabs used to annoy him, at first, and he'd once flung back at her that one didn't _need_ to be a neat freak when one was living in the back of a car, okay? And she'd paused and given him a sad look, and picked up his sweater and socks and soda bottles and magazines herself, and he'd felt victorious for about eight seconds before she deposited the whole pile in his arms and told him that he wasn't living in the back of a car anymore and to figure out how to use the hamper and trash can.

Which he had, mostly.

He suspected Katie might have gotten the occasional tidiness lecture, too, when she was growing up. And maybe Ricky as well, after all Rusty was sharing a room with the man and could confirm that _his_ suitcase looked only slightly more organized. (although at least it was closed).

Sharon didn't _have_ a suitcase – of course, she'd probably not had time to pack one, and Rusty's stomach did an uncomfortable little twist as he recalled just how _she'd_ ended up in Minnesota and would he ever figure out just how angry she was with him over the whole thing?

"Found it." Katie held up the bubblegum-pink hoodie she'd worn on the flight over, and dug out the charger from underneath.

After the phone was plugged in, she let out a tired sigh and looked around the room, almost as if hoping there would be something else to do. She didn't look too eager to go back downstairs to the remaining guests, and Rusty couldn't blame her – how long were those people planning on _staying_, anyway, it was like, six p.m. or something.

After a few seconds, Katie seemed to give up and, squaring her shoulders, walked out of the room to head back downstairs. She was given a short reprieve when a low-volume ringing went off in the hallway; Rusty noticed for the first time a phone on the small wooden table underneath one of the wall lamps. He'd heard it ring a few times the day before, too, but had never bothered to identify the source. It wasn't all that surprising that the house had a landline, not really…although, he did wonder how many phones it took to cover the whole place. Probably like... fifty. The mansion was big enough to have its own zipcode.

Maybe it did.

Katie stopped by the table to pick up, and Rusty headed back into Paul's old room, politely closing the door behind him because really, he wasn't _trying_ to overhear every conversation in the house.

* * *

It was a good three hours later that Rusty gathered up the courage to go into the kitchenette again, and then only because he imagined that Sharon and her sister would be long gone. Well… and because he was really, really hungry.

The after-burial gathering had ended; from his window, he'd seen more and more cars pulling out of the driveway, until finally everyone seemed to have left. The caterers had milled about downstairs for a little while longer, finishing the clean-up work, and every now and then Rusty thought he'd heard some familiar voice giving muted instructions. But even that activity had died down eventually, and silence had descended upon the house.

The lights were dimmed once more and, as he walked down the staircase, the boy couldn't help the same shiver of unease that he'd felt on first entering the mansion. The stillness and the copper glow of the wall lamps reflecting off the mahogany panels still made for an unsettling atmosphere.

But he _was_ reaaally hungry. And at least now he knew his way to the kitchenette.

It was thankfully deserted when he got there, and he quietly opened the fridge door and pulled out the leftovers of some casserole dish (it didn't look that appetizing, honestly, but it was ready-made and in a microwaveable container), and a bottle from the well-stocked soda shelf. After warming up the food, he was briefly tempted to take it upstairs, before realizing that he hadn't actually seen anyone eating in the bedrooms and Sharon must've gotten her weird house rules from _somewhere_… He sat down at the table with a sigh and dug into the casserole as fast as he could.

"Chewing go out of fashion these days, kid?"

Mouth full, Rusty turned toward the door and gave Lt. Flynn a stellar teenage eyeroll, and if his cheeks hadn't been stuffed with casserole he might've made a comment about a certain liquid diet and pots and kettles. As it was, by the time he swallowed, the moment had passed, and he only offered a questioning look:

"I thought everyone was pretty much done for the night," he said, an uncharacteristically polite way of asking what the lieutenant was still doing up.

The man looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, before admitting: "The Captain had some work to do in her father's study." And that reply confused Rusty for a second, before he vaguely remembered that Lt. Flynn was sleeping on an air mattress _in_ the study, and _of course_ Sharon wasn't thinking about that right now, but by retreating there she'd inadvertently left him with nowhere to go.

"Oh." He grimaced with some small amount of sympathy, although frankly if being in her father's study was what Sharon wanted or needed, then Lt. Flynn was out of luck because no one would dream of making her leave.

Still…

"Do you uh… want some casserole?" the boy surprised himself by asking, because really, since when did _he_ say that kind of thing? But Sharon would feel _so bad_ if she realized that she'd basically locked Flynn out, and … "There's more in the fridge. And like, sandwiches, too."

He cut himself off (_honestly_!), but Flynn just gave him an amused sort of sideways glance. "Sure, why not," he agreed, and helped himself to a sandwich from the fridge, while Rusty felt obligated to get him a plate (but only because he knew where the plate cabinet was and the lieutenant probably didn't; he was _not_ playing host, and definitely not in someone else's house.)

When he handed Lt. Flynn the plate, another, more urgent, thought occurred to him. "How's Sharon?" After all, if Flynn had seen her in the study, that must've been much more recently than Rusty had seen her, and maybe he could get some hint as to her state of mind…

Unfortunately the lieutenant just gave an uninformative sort of shrug, and 'as well as can be expected' was _not_ an answer, no matter what so-called adults thought. Rusty glared with some dissatisfaction, but was forced to accept the non-answer, and they stuck to innocuous small talk about Minnesota and the weather for the next few minutes while they ate.

Rusty was done with the casserole long before Flynn had finished his sandwich, but he waited for the man to be done anyway. When that happened, he took the plates to the sink and washed them, not before asking if Lt. Flynn wanted some coffee or tea. Because apparently he was doing _that_ kind of thing now, too…?

Thankfully Lt. Flynn said that he had to make some phone calls, and he'd make his own tea in a little while, and Rusty felt beyond relieved. He still made an effort to remember where Sharon had gotten the tea bags from the previous night, though, and left the drawer open for the lieutenant. "Do you like… need anything else?" he mumbled finally, defeatedly, and did Flynn really need to look _that_ amused at his expense?

"I'm good, kid, thanks," the lieutenant grinned, "go to bed. Have a good night," he wished Rusty, and he let out another private chuckle when the boy all but ran out of the kitchen with a hilariously relieved look on his face.

* * *

Rusty had meant to go upstairs to the bedroom, he had, but heading down the hallway he'd walked past the door to the study, and there had been a sliver of light underneath it, and he'd paused in his steps almost involuntarily.

This was really none of his business… and so on. Whatever. He gave a light knock, then reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open.

He was greeted with the sight of Sharon and Katie curled up across from each other on the wide window sill, and the space really wasn't big enough for _two_ people but they made it work somehow, their bodies comfortably entwined, with Sharon's legs folded sideways and Katie's knees drawn up to her chest, the tips of her feet buried underneath her mother's legs. They fit around each other in a natural, effortless manner, and seeing it made something in Rusty's chest tighten a little wistfully.

Mother and daughter both glanced over at his entrance, and the boy felt heat rising to his cheeks.

"Uh – sorry, I uhm, didn't mean to… interrupt."

"You're not," Sharon shifted slightly so she could face him better, and again he noticed how Katie's body automatically adjusted to make room for her movement. "What is it?"

"Well – uhm…that's a...I…was…wanted to get a book," he finished lamely, and was honestly surprised when Sharon didn't laugh in his face because _really_? Even Katie had arched her eyebrows a little wryly, and she'd known him for like, two days. But Sharon only returned a tired smile and motioned him to go ahead and asked him if he'd had dinner.

Rusty mumbled something about microwaved casserole and carefully left any mention of Lt. Flynn out of it.

* * *

Making his way up the staircase after a clumsy retreat from the study, he thought about Sharon and Stephanie, and Sharon and Katie, and the sound of Sharon's tearful laughter mixed with her sister's, and the way Katie's hand absently patted her mother's leg in the window seat… and again an unfamiliar mixture of warmth, relief and longing rose in his chest.

He'd been swinging between those kinds of emotions pretty much since he'd started meeting Sharon's family. He'd arrived in Minnesota determined to hole up in the bedroom and stay out of the way, but it was _impossible; _the house may have been huge but it wasn't nearly big enough for him to avoid witnessing the aftermath of the death of Sharon's father. And everything he'd seen and heard had elicited in him a degree of interest and an intensity of emotion that had caught him entirely unprepared.

From Ricky barging into the conference room at the station and calling Sharon 'Mom' and forgetting Rusty's name, to the look that Katie gave him at the airport that looked _so much_ like Sharon that it was creepy, to Julie and her hugs and Paul who never smiled and Sharon's mother with her frosty demeanor and forbidding black clothes (the two of them so scary, except they were also the ones who'd agreed to move the whole funeral in the first place to wait for Sharon, and Stephanie had said that that wasn't even out of character and – _Stephanie_...)

Whatever he'd pictured when he'd thought about Sharon's family, reality had surprised him. Over and over again for the past two days, it had surprised him and pushed him, delighted and perplexed him, and Rusty's brain felt sore just trying to process it all, but he was learning _so much_… And the more he learned, the more he wanted to know, yet at the same time this vague, wistful anxiety flowed and ebbed...

He remembered again the kitchenette scene as he brushed his teeth a little while later. Was Sharon really okay now, after all that? He thought she might have looked completely exhausted in the study, except whenever her children were around it was harder to tell...

Sharon's children. His thoughts circled back to them constantly, twenty times a day. They were... well, Ricky obviously thought he was the center of the universe and was completely clueless half the time, and he was the loudest sleeper _ever _and... Katie had looked totally _weird_ when he'd first met her...but... they were... nice, he guessed. Katie made good sandwiches. Ricky was _really nice_ to Sharon – actually, around her, he was like, the most considerate person in the world (which kind of made Rusty want to roll his eyes because had she _seen_ her son blundering around at those _other_ times?). And they were nice to each other, too, he'd noticed the way they'd worked together over the past couple of days, and how Katie had helped Ricky settle Lt. Flynn (or as Sharon's son liked to call him, Flint), and how Ricky let his sister rummage through his suitcase when she misplaced half her own things, and didn't seem to mind when she then lost _his_, as well, and... they just... made a good team, Rusty had to admit. And they'd been on _Sharon's_ team round the clock this week, for which he was really, really glad.

Of course, that didn't prevent him from rolling his eyes when he walked out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, only to narrowly avoid a collision with Ricky, and did Sharon's son just like, not bother to look where he was going and – could he _please_ stop giving Rusty that slightly suspicious look_ every single time_?

"Mom was looking for you a few minutes ago," the young man said, and surprise erased all of Rusty's irritation with his temporary roommate.

He gave Ricky a hopeful look. "What? Why?"

"I don't know," said Ricky, then frowned a little, hesitant, "but... she might've gone to bed in the meantime...don't wake her up if she did, okay?"

Rusty narrowed his eyes into an annoyed glare, but quickly realized that alright, _he_ also didn't want to wake Sharon up if indeed she'd finally gone to get some rest. "I won't," he grumbled pointedly, and felt proud of himself for not adding, 'but not because you told me to'.

He started to march up the hallway toward Sharon's room, but had barely taken three steps when Katie quietly slipped out of the room; she spotted him when she looked up, and read his intentions, and grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry, Rusty... Mom wanted to talk to you, but she fell asleep... she was really..." Katie sighed. "It's been a long day. Don't wake her up, okay?"

Behind them, Ricky winced, because _he'd_ just said that and nearly gotten his head bitten off, and ...

"Okay," the kid said with a quiet nod, "thanks. I'll just... talk to her tomorrow."

..._really_?

And the kid even almost-_smiled_ as he wished Katie goodnight...!

Rusty retreated into the room they shared, toothbrush and all, and Ricky crossed his arms and shook his head in bemusement. "You know the most I get are growls and eye rolls," he informed Katie.

Her lips pressed together in that knowing smile that looked a lot like Mom's. "What's the matter," she teased, "can't handle not being the better-liked Raydor for once?"

And he rolled his eyes, because _no_... but also, yes, kind of, a little. "How come he's so much nicer to you?" he wanted to know.

Katie looked thoughtful, her eyes wandering to the closed bedroom door before she answered: "Because I'm not Mom's son."

"What...?" Ricky was totally confused. "That doesn't make any – yes you are, right? I mean, you're Mom's kid too...!"

Katie tilted her head and looked up at him with an affectionate look, then her lips curled into a small smirk and she patted his shoulder. "It's okay, baby brother," she cooed consolingly, "most people don't need you to be smart to like you."

He scrunched up his face at her ribbing, and returned: "At least I'm not _short._"


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Happy 2014, everyone! Thanks so much to all of you reading this story, and huge thanks to those of you who leave a review! I'd also like to say thank you again to all the guest reviewers - I can't reply to you guys in person, but I really appreciate hearing from you, and am very glad you take the time to let me know what you think :)**

**No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (20)**

The next morning found Rusty in a state of mixed anxiety and eagerness.

Though it was just past eight a.m., at least a few others in the household seemed to have woken up, too: there were occasional footsteps and other muffled noises out in the hallway, and even the rare subdued voice drifting up from downstairs. Ricky, of course, had long since gotten up and dressed. But Rusty couldn't bring himself to do the same just yet, mostly because his stomach was tied up in knots and his brain stuck in overload mode.

It had been two days since he'd talked to Sharon – _really_ talked, past brief greetings or meaningless phrases or sparse snippets of conversation when none of them had really felt like saying much at all – and Rusty was starting to feel seriously unhappy about that. Plus… he was feeling all sorts of other things that he had trouble understanding, and there was too much on his mind and... yesterday had just been a really long day for him, too.

And then he'd had a really...complicated night.

Rusty made the bed just to give himself something to do, but since he couldn't bring himself to actually leave the room, he dropped back on top of the bedspread with a long sigh.

After finding out that Sharon had come looking for him and he'd missed her (because the universe hated him and why, _why_ couldn't he have waited half an hour to shower and brush his teeth, why?), he'd holed up in the bedroom to battle the disappointment and frustration coiled up in the pit of his stomach. And the anxious questions whirling around in his mind: why _had_ Sharon wanted to see him? Had he done something wrong? Was she mad about all the ways he'd inadvertently invaded her privacy?

_(Mostly_ inadvertently, and therein was another problem. Rusty had thought that his involvement in Sharon's tragedy had ended when she'd arrived at her family home, but he'd been _wrong. _He may have had no idea what to say to her and may have been scared of her reactions, but that hadn't been enough for him to actually stay away, so he was stuck in a state of constant vacillation… and it kept ending up in awkward results like offering Lt. Flynn tea or having to select reading material from Sharon's father's bookshelf. All of which could've been avoided if he could only figure. things. _out_!)

Turning his brain off the previous night had turned out to be no easy task.

He'd opened and closed the window and rearranged the clothes in his backpack and flicked disinterestedly through the book he'd had to bring up from the study. He'd even halfheartedly pulled out his schoolbooks, which had provided the unwelcome reminder that he still had homework for the following week, but even the mild anxiety of _that_ realization hadn't been enough to distract him for long.

Sleep had been at first elusive, then agitated. And then he'd woken up at some point and the night had really gotten… challenging.

Rusty rubbed tired hands to his cheeks, cringing at the memory of it.

And he _still_ hadn't gotten to talk to Sharon, which was just beyond ridiculous at this point and was it really that much to ask for like, _five seconds_ of sitting down with her, so his head maybe _wouldn't_ explode? It wasn't Sharon's fault, of course, if anything he was _glad_ that she was finally getting some rest, but…

..and okay, he knew that she had no idea he was feeling _so_… and it wasn't as if there was anything she could do, anyway, about the fact that being around her family was making his brain feel sore in ways he couldn't comprehend, _but_…

…he just wanted…

…just…

He didn't know _what_ he wanted. And that was the biggest problem.

Rusty didn't know what he wanted, and he didn't _want_ to know what he wanted. He hadn't wanted anything to change, and now it was all changing independent of his will and he wasn't sure _how_ it was changing, and he didn't want to deal with any of it.

He didn't even know _how_ to deal with it, and it was so unfair that he couldn't find a chance to talk to Sharon for_ five minutes, _so he could at least get some _clue_…

All he wanted at the moment was to be there for Sharon. Why did that feel so _complicated_?

It hadn't felt this complicated _before_ meeting her family. He'd been perfectly happy with how things were, back in LA, and he hadn't had all these... questions and _feelings_ and... it had just all been better then, and maybe he should've stayed there instead of coming to Minnesota. Sharon should've just gone without him. He should've just kept his mouth shut and gone to some DCFS family because that would've been simpler and way, _way_ less...

...less...

The boy rolled onto his stomach and groaned.

Just... five minutes. They didn't even have to talk about anything serious. Sharon could just like, lecture him on the virtues of those piano concerts she liked to listen to, which were just about the most boring thing in the world but at this point Rusty would've _gladly_ listened to her go on about four-handed pianos and the likes, because that would've at least been some small piece of normalcy, and his brain really needed normalcy right now.

Especially after last night. And the whole day before last night, really.

And actually, the whole week, maybe.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Rusty flopped onto his back again with a sigh, because he didn't want Ricky to think that there was anything bothering –

_Ricky never knocked_. Why would he _knock_, it was _his_ room basically. Actually, no one had bothered with knocking, well except 'Aunt Mary-Anne' the previous morning, but clearly it wasn't her this time and –

Another light knock, and the door opened slightly; Rusty found himself scrambling to a sitting position without even realizing it, and he knocked his head on the wooden headboard in the process, too.

Sharon grimaced sympathetically. "Can I come in?" she asked quietly from the doorway, and okay, his nod may have been a little too vigorous because he was pretty sure he'd felt a neck muscle snapping.

She stepped inside and rested against the door for a moment, until it clicked closed again, then she flicked the light switch, probably a wise choice since the room was facing west and it was really overcast, nearly dark, outside. Rusty scooted to one end of the bed to leave her space to sit, and she walked over and sat down near the other end, resting one hand on the mattress for extra support and leaning her weight on it.

The second she met his eyes again he opened his mouth to say something, and some sort of bottleneck happened whereby a hundred different things came to his mind and none actually made it out through his mouth.

And then he remembered the incident from the previous night, and… "Sharon, I'm _so sorry_ about the thing with your mom," he sputtered anxiously, "I swear I wasn't trying to scare her or, or anything… I was just getting some water and she came in and –"

Sharon held up a hand to stop him. "You didn't do anything wrong."

The boy returned a doubtful look, because really, had she not _seen_ the state that her mother had been in because of him? The whole incident had been the most terrifying thing ever, and it made him wince just to remember it…

* * *

_He'd woken up from a restless sleep shortly before five a.m., and it was still dark out and his brain just whirred right back to life with a thousand new issues. With a muffled groan, he'd swung out of bed to go downstairs for some water, because he was too sleepy and grumpy to go another round against his many anxieties, and at least it was almost morning and he'd get to talk to Sharon soon. _

_It hadn't even occurred to him that he may not have been the only one awake at that hour, and so he was caught completely flat-footed by the most unexpected of the encounters he'd had so far with Sharon's family. _

_He was just about halfway through his water glass when he heard the shuffling footsteps outside the kitchenette, and suddenly the silhouette of Sharon's mother appeared in the doorway. Rusty froze; he thought he might have gladly jumped out the window to avoid her, but she noticed him before he had a chance to do anything. She startled visibly and took a frightened step back and the boy, too, backed away in a panic and lifted his hands in the most reassuring gesture he could come up with. _

_"Sorry! It's okay! I was just getting some water," he hurried to explain himself when she put a hand to her chest in alarm, "I didn't mean to bother you. Sorry!"_

_The old woman stared. "Who are you?"_

_He would've taken another step back, but there was no more space. The room appeared unaccountably eerie, with the two of them frozen a few feet from each other and the moonlight streaming through the window. "Uh, Rusty."_

* * *

"But… was she like, _okay_?" He sounded almost desperate.

Sharon let out a small sigh. "She's not okay, Rusty," she said quietly. "But… the whole time we've been here, it was the first time I heard her laugh again. No matter the reason, I want to believe that _that_ was a good thing." She gave him a tired sort of half-smile. "You're the one who made it happen."

And he grimaced again, because honestly the whole laughing thing had _not_ seemed like a good thing to _him_.

* * *

_Elizabeth kept staring, a gleam of panic in her eyes. "Rusty? I don't…" She swallowed hard. "Who … why are you here…?" _

_He _knew_ he should've just stayed in the damn bedroom, what was he _thinking_? "U-uh… I came with, uhm, your daughter? Sharon?" _

_To his distress, the woman's alarm, instead of vanishing, only increased. "But… Sharon's…" she shook her head, her voice raspy with shock, "…you're not Ricky…"_

_"What? No!" The boy held up his hands again, frantic. "I'm not Sharon's son. I'm her… uhm… it's complicated." His heart was pounding in his ears. "But I came here with her. Well technically I came here with Katie, and part of the way with Ricky, but… yeah…" He trailed off when he realized he was ranting, and Elizabeth continued to stare for a long moment._

_"So… I _don't_ know you," she said finally, slowly. _

_"No…" Rusty grimaced, feeling an awful mixture of panic and awkwardness, "sorry about being in your kitchen. I was just getting some water, I swear." _

_Abruptly, the old woman laughed, a low, hoarse sound that echoed strangely in the small room._

* * *

"I'm sorry, though," said Sharon, and Rusty was completely confused as to why _she_ was apologizing when _he_ was the one who'd terrified her grieving mother by wandering around the house like an idiot at five in the morning. "I can imagine that it must have been a little uncomfortable for you," she continued, and he gave her an unsure look because _a little_ _uncomfortable_?

* * *

_Rusty flattened himself against the sink even more. "Er…"_

_"Oh thank _God_." And Sharon's mother chuckled again, the same scary sound, and Rusty felt panic surging in him, because what he _done_, and was the elderly woman losing it right there, and _why_ did these things always happen to _him_?_

_"Look, do you want to like, sit down or something…? I uhm…" _

_"The last thing I needed right now was to be losing my marbles, too… I heard that it can happen, you know…?" She shook her head, the last of her painful chuckles dying down. "But I _don't_ know you. Well… that's the best news I've heard all week."_

_His eyebrows were lost in his hairline. "Uh…"_

_Sharon's mother noticed his panic for the first time, and gave another throaty huff of amusement. "You must think I'm out of my mind."_

_"No!" Rusty hurried to lie. "No, you just uhm, had a… hard few days, and…"_

_She nodded slowly. "That I did…oh…" She wiped away a tear, and even she wasn't sure if it was from laughing or if she'd started crying somewhere in the process. "But at the very least, I'm not losing it yet," she muttered, almost to herself. "You had me wondering for a minute there…"_

She_ had _him_ wondering still. "Uhm, sorry?"_

_Elizabeth let out another impossibly gruff chuckle and the light in the kitchenette suddenly went on, causing them both to wince at the unexpected brightness. _

_"Mother…!" Sharon appeared in the doorway, wrapped in the same black sweater she'd worn during the day, and surprise crossed her face at the sight of them. "Rusty? What…?" She noticed the traces of laughter and tears on her mother's face, and looked to be at a complete loss. "What's happening?"_

_Elizabeth placed a hand against one of the counters for support. "This is Rusty," she stated._

_Sharon's expression softened. "I know, Mom," she nodded. "I'm Rusty's legal guardian." _

_"I thought he was Ricky."_

_Sharon gave a small, quiet smile. _

_"I thought…" Her mother shook her head again, with another silent chuckle. "Never mind that. It was nice meeting you, Rusty," she told the boy in her hoarse voice. _

_"Uh… likewise…? Sorry about… scaring you." _

_"Let me take you back to your room," Sharon walked in and offered the older woman her arm, "I'll bring you some tea in a little bit if you can't sleep."_

_Elizabeth patted her elbow, before taking the offered arm and allowing herself to be led out. "Good night, Rusty," she said quietly, and the boy followed her slow steps with a wary look: _

_"Goodnight…" _

_Sharon turned when they'd reached the doorway and gave him a slightly worried look. "I'll be back soon, alright?"_

_And Rusty grimaced warily and wondered if he could've possibly made things any _worse_, and figured that no, no, sending Sharon's mother into some sort of panic attack had been about the worst outcome he could've wrought, short of maybe actually giving her a heart attack. "I'm fine… just going back to bed…I swear," he'd felt the need to add. "Don't worry about me…"_

* * *

"I am _so_ sorry," he pleaded again, and Sharon just gave him another sympathetic look.

"It's okay," she assured him, "Rusty, my mother was fine. Just a little surprised... and a little sorry," she smiled, "that she scared _you_ a lot more than you scared her."

"No she d –" He scratched the back of his neck, and admitted: "Okay, kind of."

"Don't worry about it," advised Sharon, and Rusty found himself actually able to comply, and he breathed a little easier and looked at her and realized again that _she was there_, and _finally_, and –

"Sharon, are you –"

The door flung open and Ricky walked in, and Rusty might've usually felt inclined to take the interruption in stride but this time he couldn't help a frustrated grimace. Thankfully, Sharon missed it, her attention diverted to her son, who'd paused a couple of steps in, obviously surprised to find her there.

"Mom! Hi..." His eyes scanned her quickly, and when a small crease appeared between his eyebrows Rusty imagined that he, too, had noticed how tired she still looked and the way her complexion was still too pale in contrast with the black sweater... "Everything okay? Were you looking for me?"

_Ugh_.

But Sharon just smiled. "Julie was looking for you earlier," she said, a diplomatic dodge if ever there was one, and Rusty was a little disappointed that she _hadn__'t_ told Ricky that _no_, she_ wasn't_ in fact looking for him and could he please _get a clue_ – then he mentally groaned and felt generally awful.

"I think she was having some trouble getting her car trunk to open," Sharon continued in a soft tone, "I told her you might be able to help...you always fixed ours when the lock jammed."

Ricky sighed. "True, but the only reason ours 'jammed' was because Katie always backed the car into anything not tall enough to show in the rear-view mirror." The two of them shared a smile over that, and Sharon's eyes flickered to Rusty briefly and _hey_, it had only been that _one time_ and the bike rack and the car were fine and he'd learned to check the side mirrors afterwards, okay? "We had to get the trunk locks changed what, eight times?" Ricky went on.

Sharon hummed. "Only until the repair costs started coming out of your allowances."

The young man fiddled a little with the pockets of his sweater, the momentary lightness in his expression fading again, replaced by the same solicitousness he'd constantly shown around Sharon for the past few days. Which Rusty would've appreciated a lot more at the moment if Ricky could've, you know, been solicitous from the other side of the door.

"Do you want to get some breakfast?" Ricky offered.

"In a little while," said Sharon, and then she just looked at him with a silent, affectionate gaze, and she really couldn't have been _more_ obvious about telling him to _get lost_, yet her son still hovered, seemingly determined to never leave the room again.

Rusty shifted impatiently in his spot at the far end of the bed.

Ricky gave him another apprehensive glance and fidgeted around the room a little more.

Sharon let out an imperceptible sigh.

"Why don't you go see if your sister's awake, honey?" she finally suggested to Ricky, her tone a little tired again. "I don't want to start breakfast without her."

Thankfully, he nodded. "Oh – yeah, okay, I'll go wake her up," and immediately headed for the door.

"And go tell Julie you can help her with the car," Sharon called after him, but Ricky had rushed out of the room already; another fleeting smile passed her lips before she stood and walked to close the door again, leaning against it the same way as before.

Rusty gave her a doubtful look. "You know he'll just be back in like, thirty seconds, right?"

Sharon's lips curled faintly. "We'll see," she murmured. "My daughter shares your dislike for being woken up in the morning."

As if he needed _more_ evidence that Katie was the one who'd gotten all the common sense.

* * *

Sharon remained resting against the door for a few seconds, then walked back to the bed and sat down again. When her eyes came to meet his, her expression was serious. "You wanted to talk, yesterday in the study?" It had been _phrased_ as a question, but it really wasn't, and Rusty felt relieved that she _hadn't_ bought the ridiculous book excuse after all.

His eyes flickered to the volume he'd left abandoned on the nightstand, and Sharon's followed, a faint smile crossing her lips. And he almost-smiled back, because okay, that had been about the most transparent excuse ever.

"What's on your mind?" she asked again, and he let out an involuntary sigh because did she _have_ a few hours? Or like… weeks?

"Rusty," she said softly when he once again failed to answer for a few seconds, and there was a sad look in her eyes, "if something's bothering you, I'd like you to tell me." (but like, where to even _start_?) "_Honey_…" Sharon prompted again, more anxiously, "I know that being here at a time like this can be…difficult, and I'm sorry if you've felt that I was unavailable…" Her voice wavered and Rusty's eyes widened in alarm.

"What? No, no, _Sharon_ – nothing's bothering me, I swear," he swallowed hard, "I just wanted to see how you were – okay? I just… because I hadn't like, seen you in two days and – _no_, but like, that's _fine_," he hurried to add when a look of dismay crossed her face, "I've been just fine, I just… wanted to see if you were… how you were doing. Alright? I swear. That's it." He felt out of breath, but at least she looked a little less distressed; he stared at her in concern. "Sharon… I… is it okay," he asked unsurely, "that you… came here? Do you… feel better…?"

He didn't think he'd done a good job expressing the question, but she must've gotten it anyway; her gaze seemed to look through him for a few seconds, thoughtful, and then Sharon nodded slowly, her eyes closing for a brief moment. "I don't know," she admitted. "But being here… yes. It…_is_ better, than not having been able to come."

And hearing her say that was enough to convince Rusty that it _had_ all been worth it. The unease and the anxiety and the sleepless nights, the awkward encounters and even running off on his own, on Ricky's hare-brained plan, and whatever was waiting for him back home because of _that_, he was _finally_ sure that it had all been worth it, after all.

And Sharon must've read those thoughts on his face, because she grimaced and shook her head, and _right_, she might've felt differently about the whole running away thing… "Rusty – "

And the door flung open again. " –_worst brother ever_," Katie grumbled as she stumbled in, bleary eyed and still in her pajamas, and she shuffled over to the bed and curled up next to Sharon, giving her mother a warm hug. "Sorry Mom, I didn't realize you were waiting for me, to eat," she murmured, "you could've woken me up."

This time, Rusty was grateful for the interruption, as Sharon smiled and rubbed Katie's shoulder and abandoned whatever she was planning to say about his unorthodox departure from L.A.. And part of him would've liked to get that out of the way, because _not_ knowing how mad she was was almost worse…but another, bigger part, was just happy that he'd gotten to talk to Sharon for a little while, and didn't really want to end it on a bad note.

* * *

Fresh coffee cup in one hand, Andy opened the back door, only to belatedly notice that Sharon had been leaning against it from the other side. She lost her balance as her support vanished, and swayed dangerously, nearly toppling over from her seat at the top of the back steps.

"Sorry!" He reached out to catch her, but she'd steadied herself with one hand against the wooden exterior wall and even managed to salvage whatever was in the mug she held. "You alright? I'm sorry," he said again for good measure, and Sharon just gave him a slightly startled smile.

"Don't worry about it," she said after a second. "We all know not to lean against the door, this always happens. But, it's still very comfortable."

Or at least it had been, Andy thought guiltily, before he'd disturbed her position. She stood up and walked all the way down the steps, and he noticed that she was wearing old, flat shoes that didn't sink into the soft damp ground. He pulled the door shut again and descended the three back steps after her.

Sharon wrapped the old, thick woolen shawl tighter around herself, and looked at him with a questioning expression. "Did you need anything?"

He shook his head. "Just thought I'd enjoy the fresh air with my coffee," he said, holding up the cup. "Don't get a lot of crisp mountain breeze and pine scent back in L.A."

She smiled again and nodded; clearly she agreed, since she was out there with her own mug. "And the quiet," she added, and Andy acknowledged with a nod of his own.

"Yeah, definitely don't get a lot of _that_ back home." He paused for a moment to consider if she was trying to hint that he should leave her alone, but she didn't _look_ like she wanted him to go, so he just glanced over the grass shining with fresh dew and the soft knolls of earth and the thin wooded area in the distance, and said honestly: "It's beautiful out here."

At his shoulder, Sharon tilted her head slightly toward him, gazing over the green early fall landscape as well, and nodded a little sadly.

Andy let a few moments go by in comfortable silence, as he sipped from the hot coffee and watched her from the corner of his eye; there was still a tiredness to her movements and black circles under her eyes, but the painful tension of the previous two days had eased from her body language. Her fingers still shook slightly as she held her mug, though.

Sharon noticed him studying her, and she turned her head and gave him another soft smile. This time, he didn't feel bad about returning an openly searching look: "How are you feeling, Sharon? Did you manage to get some rest?"

She nodded slowly, and he knew that she must have been telling the truth, but she still looked as though she could use some more sleep. "I did, thank you." She didn't seem inclined to elaborate, falling back on courtesy instead. "Did you sleep well?"

And Andy nodded, even though it wasn't entirely true, because his bones were a little too old for air mattresses... but he thought he could manage without cracking his back around her and she'd never know. "Yeah." He breathed in, deeply. "I hadn't heard the rain on the roof at night in a while. Reminded me of when I was a kid. And the academy," he added, then murmured as an afterthought "although there used to be a leak in my dorm room ceiling, so _those_ rainy nights definitely lost some of their charm…"

That earned him an almost-smile. "I used to love falling asleep to the sound of rain, too..."

Another few moments passed in silence, and Andy watched a flock of birds flying overhead. Then there was sudden movement behind the large tree at the far end of the yard, and he startled a little at the unexpected appearance of a large black dog.

Seeing his slight jump, Sharon followed the direction of his gaze, and she let out a small sigh, seeming entirely unsurprised.

"Pilot," she murmured when the dog had run all the way up to them, and she backed up slightly as though a little intimidated by the too-energetic sixty-pound behemoth. At Andy's questioning glance, she explained: "He's our neighbors', but he learned to wander over pretty much the day they got him, years ago. My father always –" her breath caught slightly, " – encouraged it, giving him treats whenever he showed up… not surprisingly, he now thinks he owns both yards."

The dog sniffed her hand, and she scratched behind his ear.

"Go home, Pilot." But the dog just did a confused little circle around the two of them, and then stopped to sniff her hand again. "Home. Go." Sharon patted his rump, and he waddled away for a few steps, then turned back to look at her. "Go, Pilot!"

The dog let out a bark.

Sharon flinched at the loud sound, and shushed him, but he just barked again and she hurried to catch up to him, because at least while he was back to nudging her thigh and sniffing her hands, he wasn't barking anymore.

"You are a _bad dog_," she whispered, ruffling the fur on his neck, "go home. _Go_." She held out a hand, pointing to what Andy assumed was the direction of their neighbor's house, but the dog just looked to where she was pointing, wagged his tail, then turned around to sniff the hem of Andy's pants.

Then he bounded over to the house, where he stopped at the back door and sniffled, let out a small whimper and then nuzzled the door.

Sharon grimaced. Andy felt for her, because it was obvious what the dog was looking for, and there wasn't anything she could do about it.

The back door opened again, and Pilot let out a half-bark, half-whimper, and tried to jump up, managing to clumsily slide down two steps in his excitement.

"Hey there, buddy." The dog wagged his tail furiously as Ricky walked out onto the back steps, and Pilot leaned in happily to have his ear scratched with an ecstatic sort of loud growl. "Thought I heard you. I missed you too."

Twenty yards or so away, Sharon swallowed, and managed a wavering sort of smile. "Ricky was thirteen when our neighbors got Pilot," she explained. "They were best buddies for a good few summer vacations."

Andy watched the young man and the dog, and smiled a little to himself as he commented: "Looks like love."

After a few seconds, Ricky looked up and noticed them; he descended the three steps and headed over, keeping his pace slow enough to still be able to pet the dog's head as they walked. He greeted Andy and turned to Sharon:

"Everything okay, Mom? Sorry breakfast is taking so long... Katie's almost ready, and I _think_ everyone else is up by now…" He smiled at her. "Julie was gonna set up breakfast in a little bit, but if you're hungry, we can – not _you_," (the dog had let out a loud bark at the word 'hungry', and Ricky patted his head) "you're _always_ hungry."

Sharon let out a quiet chuckle. "I'm alright, honey. We can wait for everyone."

"I was gonna go see if I can get Julie's trunk open, in the meantime…?" He looked as though he were asking if she needed him for anything else, and Sharon nodded her silent assent:

"Do you know where grandpa's toolbox is?" At his wry look, her lips pressed together in another warm smile. "Alright, then. Good luck."

Ricky nodded in response, then patted his leg as he began to walk over to the tool shed.

"Come on, Pilot. Do you want to help me fix our cousin's misbehaving car…? Like we fixed our sister's car, when she backed into your doggy house…? Yeah, we didn't like her much the rest of that summer, did we?" The dog wagged his tail at Ricky's playful tone. "That's a good boy." Once again he smiled over his shoulder at Sharon, who was laughing silently at his antics. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Sharon followed him with a loving gaze until he disappeared into the shed to look for the toolbox.

Andy glanced over at her. "Good kid," he said quietly, and a fleeting smile passed her lips, and she nodded her thanks.

"He is."

Again she fell silent, gaze lost somewhere in the distance as she absently readjusted the shawl around her shoulders against the chilly wind. Mindful of her contemplative mood, Andy took another silent sip from his coffee, looking across the back yard, listening to the rustling leaves, smiling at a squirrel dancing around the bushes at the end of the yard, where the well-tended grass met the small patch of woods.

"Andy."

He turned his head to look at her.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on Rusty," Sharon said quietly, and he was a little surprised by the sudden change of topic but he went with it. "This can't have been easy for him, and I wasn't… " She sighed. "I don't think I fully realized how demanding it would be for _him_, coming here. I know having you here helped… thank you."

Andy shook his head. "Nothing to thank me for. And the kid – he gets it, believe me," he said honestly." He didn't need looking after."

At her involuntary grimace, he felt the need to add:

"Hey, you know he's not exactly in my good books after that stunt with the letters, but this time…" He sighed. "He just wants you to be okay."

Sharon nodded slowly. "I know," she said softly. Another few seconds passed in silence before she turned to him again. "If you don't mind, Andy, I'm going to check on my mother before breakfast."

"Not at all. I'll walk you back inside," he offered, and they entered the house together, Andy accompanying her all the way to the staircase before he directed himself to the kitchen to offer her niece his help with breakfast.

* * *

Breakfast was an overwhelming affair, but nowhere near as bad as it _could've_ been, if say, they'd had it in the dining room, sitting down. Rusty remembered the last meal he'd had in any sort of official family setting (pretty much the only meal, really), and it had been dinner with Kris' parents and had gone pretty disastrously. He was left with a healthy fear of any such events…and the prospect of sharing a meal with all of Sharon's family at once was about a hundred times more intimidating.

But there was no way to avoid it, and so slightly after nine a.m. and after stalling as much as he could, he followed Katie downstairs and held out a little hope that he would magically turn invisible.

He didn't, but it wasn't all that terrible, either.

Julie had set up all sorts of food in the kitchen – the real kitchen, this time, which Rusty had only seen during the quick house tour on Thursday afternoon. It was about three times the size of the kitchenette, and there was a table in the corner and some bar stools by the counter, and that layout made breakfast slightly less awkward than it could've been. People just walked in whenever they were ready, helped themselves to some food from the ample spreads that Julie had put out, then picked a seat or even ate standing, as was the case with Julie and Ricky. There was no great amount of pressure to make conversation or wait for everyone to be seated or anything.

Still. Rusty was thrilled to find Lt. Flynn in the kitchen when he entered, and as soon as he'd gotten a chocolate chip muffin and a side of fried bacon, he retreated to the man's side. But he had to admit that the spotlight he'd been worried about wasn't there; people didn't seem to pay any particular attention to him at all. Julie kept pouring coffee and refilling water and juice pitchers as she ate, and Katie was debating one of her elderly great-uncles (Peter?) over French baked goods, and Ricky talked about semiconductors (whatever those were) with their other uncle, while also carrying plates and cups to the sink when they were empty.

Sharon and her sister were in the kitchen only sporadically, and Rusty assumed they were spending time with their mother, who hadn't come downstairs for breakfast. Sharon had come in for about five minutes, and had a glass of water and a piece of fruit while waiting for her niece to put together a plate of food for Elizabeth, which she'd then carried out of the kitchen along with a cup of tea.

(In passing, she'd glanced at his plate, and given him one of _those_ looks and said 'that doesn't count as food', and _he'd_ pointedly said 'neither does half a tangerine' because really! ... and then he'd ducked his head and mumbled an awkward apology and scooped some scrambled eggs out of the pan and there, that counted as food, right? And Sharon had smiled slightly and picked up a piece of toast from the breakfast tray she was holding and dropped it on his plate, before leaving the kitchen to take the food to her mother.)

Rusty was pretty sure he'd gotten a few extra looks from the rest of Sharon's family after her departure, so great, in addition to everything else, now they probably thought he didn't know how to feed himself, either... _that_ wasn't embarrassing at all.

Stephanie had arrived a few minutes later, and she'd eaten some scrambled eggs and toast in somewhat of a hurry, then excused herself again and gone back upstairs with her coffee mug.

Paul and his son Jamie appeared around nine-thirty, and Sharon's brother had refused any food but accepted a cup of tea from Julie before going to his mother's room, as well. About ten minutes later, Sharon returned to the kitchen, and Rusty thought about how she and her siblings were obviously taking turns spending time with Elizabeth, and he was glad that they had each other… and he was doubly glad that Sharon had _her_ kids, particularly when Katie persuaded her to have some more food, even if it was just a cup of yoghurt (which, gross – but whatever, it was food, he guessed. Kind of.).

Around ten, they heard a car pull up, and Mr. Martin and his wife Annie arrived, the elderly woman sparing everyone a few grave smiles and patting a few heads before she went upstairs. Her husband retreated to the parlor along with Sharon's two uncles, and Katie took them all a fresh batch of coffee, while Ricky and Paul's son stayed behind to clean the kitchen after breakfast. Soon, the house became quiet again, despite the great number of people. Somehow, everyone had found a place to be and an occupation – which was completely baffling to Rusty, who could still hardly figure out what to do with himself. Finally, he decided to go upstairs and tackle the whole homework thing again, even though it was the last thing he wanted… and _who cared_ about the determinant method for coefficient matrices, anyway?

* * *

**A/N: Yeesh, this was a long chapter. And I cut part of it off, too - it was originally ending in a cliffhanger of sorts. But then I remembered the amount of angst we are all already experiencing in anticipation of the season finale, so... no need to add more. Really.  
**

**And as promised, this story is slowly making its way out of the well of unending angst! At least I like to think it is. Writing this might have skewed my definitions of what angst is. We're also getting to some of those scenes-you'd-like-to-see that I've been asking you guys about over the past few chapters (Rusty meeting/interacting with more of Sharon's family, Sharon/Andy etc.). To those of you who mentioned a scene between Sharon and her brother, I'm still working on that, haven't forgotten, trying to see if I can fit one of their 'deleted scenes' into the mostly-written future chapters. Let me know if there's anything else you'd like to see (again, except for Sharon/Rusty, more of which is coming!) while we wrap up Sharon, Rusty and Andy's stay in Minnesota. **

**Again, thank you for reading :) I love hearing from you more than Rusty loves ignoring instructions! **

**(am I still carrying slight throttle-feels from the last episode? Perhaps.) **


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading, reviewing, following and adding this story to their favorites! I really love hearing from you guys. **

**This chapter officially brings this story to 100,000+ words, which is insane considering that when I started, it was at around 30,000 and I could've sworn that it was mostly done. (again - shows what i know.) And I wanted to post this chapter right before the finale airs, because it seemed like an appropriate symmetry ;) And also because I've run out of nails to bite off and tantrums to throw in anticipation of THIS EPISODE. **

**Thanks again for all your support! **

**(And last but not least, another bit of replying-to-reviews-in-the-chapter no-no: to my anon reviewer Ginny - thanks so much for taking the time to point that out :). It had actually crossed my mind over the last two chapters, and I'm working on it! It's a hard habit to shake, but I'm aware of it now, so I'll try to keep it to a more moderate level. Thanks again! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.)**

**No Such Things as a Perfect Family (21)**

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh, then leaned back over the desk.

There were so many papers to go through. The family lawyer had dropped off another pile around late morning, and Sharon had spent a good hour with him, trying to figure out what needed to be filled out, and how, and by what date. After he'd left, she'd continued to pore over the documents on her own, and she must've lost track of time because it was nearly one p.m. now, and she hadn't moved from the chair in what felt like hours.

Her head hurt and her body was stiff, but she was determined to finish dealing with the paperwork . Her brother had already taken on so much by himself, and after the infernal week of dealing with all aspects of the funeral, he deserved a break. Sharon was glad that the lawyer had run into her first.

Well – glad for Paul's sake, because he'd done enough work on his own. Not so glad for herself, because not only were the papers excruciating to go through and every one a painful reminder of what she'd lost, but the lawyer wasn't exactly at the top of her list of favorite people.

He talked too much and he was arrogant and he'd spent most of their hour together hitting on her, to the point where Sharon had wanted to shoot him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, again." He'd put a hand on her arm and squeezed and lingered far too long, stepping into her personal space, and Sharon had suppressed the urge to flinch.

"Thank you." She'd quickly backed up, stepping around the desk to sit in her father's chair, and only when the desk was between the two of them did she make eye contact again. "And thank you for bringing the rest of the papers over on a Saturday."

"Oh, not at all, not at all." He'd waved a hand and sat down without invitation. "It was my pleasure. And I'm delighted at the chance to see you… please let me know if there's anything I can do for you during this difficult time. Anything at all."

Unbelievably, he'd reached across the desk to put a hand on her wrist. Sharon had stared at him in disbelief. She'd met the man maybe three times in her life, as he'd taken over her parents' affairs after their old lawyer and her father's long-time friend had retired (and subsequently passed on) only a few years prior. The rapport that had existed with their previous lawyer was definitely not there with this one, and his familiarity was inappropriate and unwelcome.

She'd offered a reserved smile and shaken off the unwanted contact by picking up one of the forms and focusing on its contents. "We already filed the certified copy of the death certificate with the county…?" As far as she knew, Paul had taken care of all of that in the days following their father's death.

"That was for the funeral arrangements," the lawyer had replied, "this is to avoid probate on most of the estate that your father owned jointly with your mother. We'll also need to file the affidavit of survivorship, and…"

There were _so many_ forms. Even as the man had explained most of it, Sharon hadn't been able to entirely process it – and having to constantly fend off his overly intimate overtures hadn't helped her focus, either. In the end she'd cut the meeting short, and had been left with a pounding headache and a bleak mood as she continued to peruse the papers by herself for a long time afterwards.

The familiar scent of old wood and leather still lingered in the study, along with a faint note of the single malt whisky that her father favored; she breathed in and held it, unsurprised to find tears pooling in her eyes again. Under any other circumstances, if she'd come home to visit, she and her father would've inevitably ended up in the study one evening, him sipping slowly from his small glass, her swirling some chilled red wine because she just _could not handle_ his smoky old whisky. He'd make fun of her and claim the strong spirits reminded him of his younger years, and she'd counter that red wine _was_ the drink of kings… which of course gave him the perfect occasion to point out that she preferred white wine, and where did that leave her oh so aristocratic taste?

Then he'd laugh and take another sip from his glass, feeling that he'd once again won their little debate, and he'd generously concede that, for all her failure to appreciate the finer drinks, she did know her coffee, and no one else's was as good as the one she made him …

Sharon folded her legs under her in the chair, and hugged herself, head resting against the old leather as she tried to keep a rein on her emotions. They were running too close to the surface after the week she'd had, especially after the funeral on the previous day… She could barely think back on those moments by the fresh grave, Father Connelly's voice going through the last of the prayers and the chilly curtain of light rain enveloping the scene with a surreal haze…

_Chin up, little girl… it's just a cup_.

The memory of the words came to her abruptly. Words meant to cheer her up, a phrase her father had spoken to her countless times, even though it didn't make much sense out of context and long after she'd stopped being a little girl. His voice rang out in her head, the words rolling in a familiar cadence.

He said it when she was disgruntled over small things, and when she pouted as a child and teenager, and when she was genuinely sad, as well, he said it as a joke when she was overreacting and he said it as an opener those few times that she'd been so miserable that there were just no words to bring her comfort. She didn't fully remember the first time he'd said it, but the family consensus was that she'd been five or six and had managed to knock over a breakfast tray; her father's coffee mug had shattered against the stone floor, and she'd burst into hysterical tears for reasons that none of them could understand and that she couldn't remember.

It wasn't until her father had said those words to her that they'd succeeded in calming her down. _Chin up, little girl… it's just a cup_.

And it made no sense, really, because it wasn't as though there was any magic to those words in particular and she'd probably just been ready to stop crying by then, anyway… But the phrase had somehow stuck, and he'd said it to her again and again over the years, until it actually did gain some special meaning.

And now she'd never hear it again except in her head.

Sharon let out a truncated sigh, and passed a hand over the edge of the desk, where time and use had worn a collection of notches in the sturdy wood. If she tried really hard, she could remember a time when her father's desk had seemed impossibly large, back when her head had been at the same level as the desk top and she'd had to rise on tiptoes to reach most of the bookcase shelves and the armchairs had been spacious enough to comfortably curl into for a nap.

It all seemed so small now, and with her father gone the study itself looked empty.

Shifting in the chair, she blinked back tears again and turned back to the form she'd just filled out, fighting off another wave of tiredness as she tried to focus her attention on what was hopefully the last of the necessary paperwork…

* * *

" – really sorry to miss it, okay?" Lt. Flynn was speaking in a soft, apologetic voice. "Okay… good. Yeah…" There was a brief pause, then: "Uh…yeah, I'll… tell her," he cleared his throat a little uncomfortably. "Alright, Nicky, tell Daniel and the kids hello for me. Have a good time tomorrow – sorry again... Yeah. Love you. Bye."

He turned and looked a little surprised to see Rusty, who had just walked into the kitchenette.

"I was just gonna get a soda," the boy said instantly, a little _too_ defensive maybe but seriously, this house made it impossible _not_ to overhear everyone else's conversations...!

Luckily the lieutenant just shrugged and shook his head when Rusty reached for a can of Coke. "Those things'll kill you," he warned. "Did you ever read the ingredients list?"

That just earned him a crooked look. Then Rusty asked: "Is Nicky your daughter?"

And Andy found himself taken aback, because when had the kid ever wanted to know personal information before? "Yeah. Nicole," he confirmed.

"The one who got married like, a few weeks ago?"

He nodded. "She and her husband Daniel had invited me for brunch over at their house tomorrow, but…" He waved hand as if to say, 'given the circumstances…'

Rusty gave him a weird look, because come to think of it, why _was_ Lt. Flynn here in Minnesota, especially if it meant that he was missing time with his daughter's family? He opened mouth to say something, but couldn't think of any way to put it, so instead he just asked: "Was she mad, that you'll miss brunch?"

"No." Andy returned a weird look of his own, because this was a lot of personable small talk for the kid. "She understands. She's not happy about it, but she understands… And I'll…make it up to them another time." A familiar phrase that made his stomach tighten just a bit.

A little more in-character, Rusty shrugged with a noncommittal hum, then fidgeted a little – after which he surprised the lieutenant again by asking: "How come they already have kids, but they just got married?"

The continued interest was still a bit baffling, but Andy decided to just go with it at this point. Maybe the kid was bored. "The boys are her husband's kids. He has full custody, so they live with him and Nicole."

"Oh… okay." Rusty wanted to ask more, like why did the father have sole custody and how did those kids feel about living with him and someone who wasn't their mother, but asking all those questions of Lt. Flynn would have felt pretty weird. "Sorry you'll miss seeing them this week," he offered instead.

Andy sighed. He was sorry too, especially since it didn't happen that often that he got to see his daughter without the less-than-welcoming presence of his ex-wife. But… "There's gonna be a next time. I hope," he couldn't help but mutter to himself under his breath, because although improving, things were still very much on shaky grounds with Nicole and he never knew just when he could take a wrong step and mess it all up again.

"Uh…yeah." Rusty shifted in his spot a little awkwardly. "I wouldn't uhm, worry about it."

"Who's worried," Flynn sighed again.

Rusty scratched the back of his head. "Look, Lieutenant…this isn't like, any of my business or anything…but I know a thing or two about parents not showing up for their kids," his eyebrows arched wryly, "pretty much an expert at that really… and… you're, like, one of the good guys." He shrugged, somewhat self-conscious. "I don't know what the deal is with you and your daughter, but at least you're trying and you care about missing that brunch and… that…like… totally counts," he finished awkwardly, then took another long gulp of Coke.

Andy stared at him.

"Anyway," Rusty mumbled, "I've got some uh, homework… so… yeah. I'll… see you later."

With that, he grabbed his soda and vanished from the kitchenette; his rushed departure left behind a _floored_ LAPD lieutenant, because not only had that been the longest speech (that wasn't an angry rant, he qualified), but also possibly the single most considerate thing that Andy had ever heard come out of the kid's mouth, and he had no idea how that had happened exactly, but he even felt a little better about the whole brunch thing.

But seriously, what had just happened there?

* * *

"_You know, when you hopped on that plane like the idiot you are, I thought I'd at least get a few days of peace and quiet_." That was Provenza's way of saying hello. "_Would you quit calling every two hours like a bored housewife?_"

Really he'd only called once a day since they'd arrived in Minnesota, but Provenza was Provenza. "What can I say, I miss your sunny disposition," replied Flynn, knowing that his smirk could be heard on the other end of the line.

"_Goodbye, Flynn,_" his partner growled pointedly.

"What are you complaining about? You're probably at work right now anyway," Flynn pointed out, "thought you'd be glad for the excuse to take a break."

There was a huff at the other end. "_I pride myself on my finely honed capacity to _avoid_ work_," grumbled Provenza. "_Especially on weekends. For your information, I'm not at the station. I happen to be having lunch with the ex-wife_."

"Really. Which one?" Andy asked with a grin, even though there was really only one answer, and Provenza didn't even bother to give it.

"_She says hello_." Flynn could virtually hear the eye roll.

"Hello, Liz," he said pleasantly.

"_Don't encourage her._"

Andy grinned again.

"_So did you call just to remind me why I should've asked for reassignment when we were first partnered together?_" Provenza asked dryly. "_Or is there an actual reason why you're interrupting me halfway through my overpriced steak?_"

"How's the case going?" asked Andy; he'd been getting daily updates, not just to keep Sharon's mind at ease on that topic, but also because technically, he wasn't _really_ supposed to be away from work, and this was the shady middle ground where he could at least claim to be in the loop and available to help…

"_One down, one to go_," said Provenza. "_We're still looking for the second guy, but the first one's on his way to life in prison, courtesy of DDA Hobbs_."

The mention of Hobbs brought another DDA to mind, and Andy's mood soured somewhat. "And how are things with… the other matter? Still quiet?" Provenza had told him that Rios wasn't going to pursue Rusty all the way to Minnesota, at least – but that didn't mean she planned to sit on her hands.

"_Haven't seen 'the other matter' in days,_" replied the older lieutenant, "_and such a fine, refreshing few days it's been. I could get used to this… maybe you could stay away, too_?"

Andy rolled his eyes; his partner was in top form today. Probably because he'd interrupted the man's late lunch. "Alright, don't let it be said I can't take a hint," he said, carefully neutral. "Thanks for the update, I'll talk to you later. Goodbye."

"_Flynn_," Provenza rumbled warningly.

Andy bit his lips. "Yeah?"

"_Don't be an asshole – wh – it's – _excuse _me_," there was some indistinct shuffling from the other end of the line, and Flynn waited patiently to see the result. Finally Provenza's voice came back on, just as grumpy as before. "_Damn woman. Apparently you're being mistreated. You don't feel that you're being mistreated, do you Flynn?_"

"Of course not," he agreed solemnly.

"_That's what I thought. Now stop wasting my time and finish telling me whatever it is you called to say, so I can go back to this steak. There's nothing I hate more than cold food._"

Andy sighed. "Everything's fine here," he updated in his turn. "We booked early return flights for Monday morning, should get to L.A. by ten a.m. or so." He paused. "You're sure Rios won't have an armed escort waiting for us at the airport, right?"

There was a short hesitation on the other end. "_Let me get back to you on that._"

"Great…" Andy muttered. "Alright," he said again, "I'll leave you and Liz to your lunch th – actually , hold on," he remembered something else, suddenly, "any news on the threat letters? Did the lab find anything?"

This time, the disgruntlement in Provenza's voice was genuine. "_Not a damn thing. There haven't been any new ones, at least, but we've got squat from the ones so far_."

"Damn it." Not the news he was hoping for.

"_No need to tell the Captain yet. She'll find out soon enough when she gets back._" They were in complete agreement on this one, and Andy hummed his assent. "_How's the kid?_" Provenza asked after a few seconds.

Andy hesitated, his mind flashing back to the unexpectedly personal conversation he'd had earlier with Rusty. "Uh… good. I think. Yeah, he's… okay."

"_You don't sound that sure._"

"No, he's fine," Flynn reassured, "it's just… " Weird. Different. He had no idea how to put it. "Never mind. He's fine."

And he was. But between Rusty trying to play host the previous evening, to the scene at breakfast when he'd called Sharon out on not eating enough, to his sudden interest in Andy's missed brunch with Nicole, the boy was really showing a side that Andy had never really seen before.

He didn't think it was a wholly new side, either; most likely, he'd just never had the opportunity to notice it before, at the station. He knew Rusty was a good kid, sure, the occasional teenage slip notwithstanding, the huge idiotic letters screw-up _really_ notwithstanding… and he knew that the kid cared about Sharon, but in all honesty Andy had sometimes thought that Sharon was putting a whole lot of love and effort into that relationship and getting a somewhat lukewarm deal in return.

It wasn't Rusty's fault really, he'd done a whole lot better than Andy (and anyone else but Sharon probably) would've credited him with, and he and Sharon had reached a great working arrangement, with the kid definitely living up to his end of the bargain. But Andy had thought that that was as good as Sharon was going to get, and not that he'd ever agree with Rios on anything, but…

"Remember when I told you that I thought the Captain was getting a little over-attached to the kid? …And you said she was probably just fattening him up to eat him?"

Provenza rumbled something unintelligible.

"Well…" Andy shook his head. "I'm starting to see how the over-attachment thing goes both ways."

Another undefined grunt.

"Let me guess: you'd call it Stockholm syndrome," Andy said dryly, because he knew exactly how his partner's mind worked; this time, there was a very distinct sigh at the other end of the line.

"_If you called just to tell me what any half-blind idiot could've seen months ago,_" Provenza finally grumbled, "_I'm making you pay for this now-cold steak._"

And Flynn chuckled and made a comment about the man's stinginess and how he'd probably been planning to foist the bill on Liz, anyway.

But the older lieutenant's reply had confirmed his suspicions, and he wasn't entirely surprised that Provenza had seen it long before. They'd talked about it sometimes, Andy wondering where exactly the whole 'legal guardian' thing was going to go, his partner swearing up and down that he didn't care, and he had enough of Raydor and her issues in the murder room, would Andy please stop subjecting him to more of the same after hours?

But he'd never once agreed with Andy's views that Sharon was maybe a little overly optimistic about Rusty's attachment to her.

And after the week they'd all had, and after having a chance to see the kid at length outside the police station, Andy was forced to admit that he, himself, had been wrong on that count.

That Sharon had gone above and beyond with Rusty was obvious from the go, but it had taken a little shifting of perspective to see how the opposite was true, too. More than true. And maybe the kid didn't know it yet, and Sharon probably didn't see the extent of it, either, but it was oh so clear now that there was an awful lot in that relationship and all of it reciprocated.

Except now that he'd finally seen it, Andy had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Especially in view of what was waiting for them back in L.A., because he'd seen Rios on Thursday morning in the murder room and she'd looked about ready to summon an execution squad.

He hoped, whatever growing bond the Captain and the kid shared, that it would survive their return to L.A.

* * *

Sharon walked into Paul's old bedroom to find Rusty cross-legged on the bed, his algebra textbook open on his lap next to a heavily scribbled notebook. He looked up when he heard her, and there was an endearing twitch to his shoulders as though he suddenly tried to stand up straighter.

"Hey."

"Hi." Smiling, she took a few steps toward the bed, and nodded to his reading materials. "How's your homework going?"

Rusty glanced down at the book. "You know… the usual. Lots of numbers and formulas I'll probably never use again in my life… and I know they're like, 'the basis for logic' and everything," he quoted, causing a small smile to bloom on Sharon's lips, "and useful and whatever… but for the record, having more unknown variables than equations doesn't seem very logical to me. Like, what is even the _point_ of that?"

He caught her amused look and cleared his throat, ending his unintentional rant (but seriously, algebra _sucked_!). "Uhm. Did you need anything?"

Sharon smiled again and folded her arms. " I wanted to ask you if you'd like to join everyone downstairs for dinner tonight. It's the first time we'll all really get to sit down for a proper meal…" Her gaze softened at the way his body tensed almost imperceptibly, but he only hesitated for a second:

"Uh – okay. Sure. Now…?" He shifted hesitantly, preparing to get up, but Sharon shook her head.

"No, it's not ready yet. It'll be another hour or so, maybe even a little longer." She nodded to the open textbook. "You can keep working on your homework if you want, I'll come get you when it's time to eat."

"Okay," Rusty agreed again, having decided that that was the best way to handle her suggestions at the moment.

"Or…" Sharon hesitated.

"Or…?" There was an 'or'?

She walked over to the window and glanced outside; it was nearly five p.m. and the afternoon light was dimming, but the sun was still a way from setting. "I need to go over to my brother's house to drop off some papers and pick up a few things," she said, then turned back to him. "I was going to drive over, but then I thought it was nice enough out to walk. If you've had enough algebra for now, you can join me – if you'd like."

His eyes widened. "If I'd – yes!" Book and notebook were pushed aside in one swift move. "Now?"

Sharon smiled at his enthusiastic response, though her amusement was mixed with a note of chagrin – he'd been cooped up inside for over two days, most of it probably spent in the small bedroom, and it had taken her long enough to realize that he was probably hating every second of it.

He hadn't said a single word to complain.

Her lips pressed together a little painfully. "Let's find you a jacket or a sweater," she suggested, walking over to open the wardrobe in the corner. "September gets a lot colder here than in L.A…"

* * *

It didn't all quite work out as planned, though.

They'd gone out the back door, Rusty wrapped up in an oversized jacket that had once belonged to Paul (the sleeves of which went past his fingers by several inches), Sharon wearing an old fleece sweater that she claimed was warm enough – even though it looked a lot like the ones she had at home and how warm could _those_ be if she wore them in their seventy-four-degree apartment?

But he'd been too excited to finally be out of the house, on foot, somewhere where he didn't have to look over his shoulder, without the constant security woes and that 'twenty four hour adult supervision' that he hated so. (well – there was Sharon, he supposed, but she wasn't like, 'adult supervision', she was…Sharon.)

And she was going to go with him, she'd _asked_ him to come along, which really wasn't all that out of character now that he thought about it, but it still surprised him for some reason. This time though, Rusty didn't mind being surprised, because it turned out that sometimes the unpredictable stuff could be good, after all.

He held that belief for the entire thirty seconds that it took them to walk down the back steps and begin to cross the yard, at which point Sharon stopped in surprise, and Rusty turned to notice a light grey Hyundai pulling up around the corner of the house.

Ricky and the thirty-something man that Rusty had come to recognize as Paul's son got out; the latter waved them a greeting, then opened the trunk and began to carry some paper bags inside. Ricky made his way over to the two of them, with Sharon meeting him halfway.

"You're back already!" At her surprised tone, Ricky shrugged:

"We decided to go to the general store in town instead, it was closer than Target and it had everything we needed. Jamie's taking the stuff to the kitchen now." Noticing her outfit, he frowned in confusion. "Were you going somewhere?"

Sharon sounded doubtful as she replied: "We were planning to walk over to Paul's house… I thought you and Jamie would be gone longer, and that we'd be back before dinner was ready…" She glanced back at the house, as though trying to figure out if there was still time to make the trip.

"I can drive you, if you want," Ricky offered, because of course he would.

Sharon looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, honey, thank you," she said eventually, to Rusty's immense relief. "I think we're still going to walk. It's not that far, it's beautiful out and Rusty's never seen the area." She gave her son a warm smile. "You're welcome to join us if you want. If you don't have anything further to do for dinner."

And of course Ricky looked completely torn. "Uh…actually, yeah, that sounds great. I'll walk with you – do you mind if I run inside for two seconds?"

"We'll wait here," nodded Sharon. "Get a proper jacket!" she called after him as he rushed up the back steps.

Rusty sighed inwardly, because being out of the house was still great, and he was still excited to see the surroundings, and he was so, so glad that Sharon seemed to be doing a little better, but...

She noticed his expression. "You don't mind, do you Rusty?"

"No," he immediately lied, which was ridiculous because he spent _all_ his time with Sharon and she got to see Ricky for about three seconds, and obviously she spent the rest of the time missing her son, and… "No," Rusty repeated, and it felt more truthful this time. "That's great."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, you know I love to hear from you. (as much as Provenza loves to hear Flynn's updates, only I'm more than happy to admit it, too!) **


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